Lady Luck
by MJRod
Summary: I. Season 4.8.b: Mano, Buck & new hand Roy wear off the smell of Stokertown in this season 4 storyline which continues "Too Late the Epitaph," complete with bunkhouse boys, past & present. Co-written by VKS & MJRod, the story also features Joe, Big John & Victoria. It is followed by "Fathers and Sons" & then "La Carta" in our attempt to flesh out THC season 4. Please read & review.
1. Chapter 1

**Lady Luck**

 **By VKS & MJRod**

 _ **Arizona territory, 1870s. The story picks up outside the High Chaparral ranch house at the end of the season four episode, "Too Late the Epitaph." The authors have taken the liberty of bringing back Reno, one of our favorite characters. Readers unfamiliar with the original episode will find that the chapter "Mano Talks" contains all that is necessary. VKS is from the UK, MJRod from Texas...this story represents a transatlantic friendship borne of our mutual love of "The High Chaparral." Special credit goes to VKS for the storyline and horse whispering sequences...and to Australia's WJSTG for reminding us to show and not tell. VKS & MJRod retain all rights to the plot but, of course, the characters are from our beloved "The High Chaparral" and this is our tribute.**_

 **Lady Luck Chapter One: Homecoming**

"Riders comin'," the lanky hand Reno hollered from the roof of the Cannon home as he cocked and fired his rifle. The crack piercing the air caused a thin vaquero below to glance up. Dust clouds kicked up in the distance obscuring two men on horseback a quarter mile away.

John Cannon burst out of his adobe ranch house, throwing open the heavily timbered door as if it were a curtain. His frame filled the doorway. Under grizzled brows, his blue eyes squinted against the harsh Arizona sun as he marched into the dirt yard. John may have been in his fifties, but few hands on the ranch could match him in riding, roping. strength or size. And today he was not pleased.

Behind John sauntered his younger brother, Buck, who leaned his black-clad form against a post in the shade of the front porch and watched, a half smile creasing his leathery face.

"Looks like Mano. Someone's with him, Mr. Cannon," Reno called down.

"I toldya Mano'd be back, John," Buck said.

"Yeah," John Cannon scowled, arms folded. "About time he got back from his lollygagging. Late, as usual." John made no effort to hide his irritation... now that he knew Mano was alive. Shoulda fired that brother-in-law of mine a long time ago, he thought.

Hearing her brother's name, Cannon's raven-haired wife, Victoria, glided out, a graceful rustle of flowing pink skirt and sunflower yellow blouse. Smiling, she slipped a slender arm in that of her much older husband and looked up at him with shining dark eyes.

"That Manolito, thank goodness he is alive. I know I have been making excuses for him, John," she said. "I have not known whether to be worried or annoyed. But now that I know he is all right, I am going to be annoyed. Very annoyed."

John patted her arm. "Then I'll leave Mano's lecture to you." He withdrew from her embrace to stand with his hands on his hips and wait.

Buck Cannon just grinned.

* * *

Outside the rancho gate, Roy Lauder stared open-mouthed as Manolito Montoya and he rode at a leisurely pace past towering saguaros, wiry ocotillo, and scrubby cholla. Roy, a stocky young man in his twenties, paused his mount beneath a rustic wooden arch and sign marking the ranch's front gate.

"The High Chapa...chap…"

"Chaparral, hombre! I told you," Mano smiled. "This is where I live. We are home."

Roy clamped shut his mouth and looked wide-eyed at Mano. Mano, laughing, straightened his flat-brimmed black hat with its silver studded band and adjusted the knot of the red kerchief round his neck.

"Vamonos, Roy. Come and meet the family of my sister." The two nudged their horses inside the gate, past bunkhouse and barn, halting near the ranch house and the welcome committee...such as it was.

"Hey Mano, who's your friend?" Buck called.

"Oh, this is Roy," Mano, replied, smiling. "Ah, I mentioned to Roy the possibility of a job on the rancho," he announced with a grin, eyes twinkling as he ignored Big John's glare. Roy allowed himself the slightest hint of a smile.

"Oh, what do he do best?" Buck asked. "When he don't have that arm in a sling, I mean."

"Lately, robbing stagecoaches," Mano laughed, enjoying himself. He dismounted. Roy managed a sheepish grin. Victoria looked uncertain, but Buck liked what he saw in the young fella's face and reached up to help him off the horse before clapping an arm around Roy's shoulder.

"Well, c'mon then, boy. Welcome to the High Chaparral."

Even Big John Cannon smiled and nodded with satisfaction when Mano assured him that the price for cattle southeast of the ranch had been less than the nineteen a head he'd received from Henderson in Tucson.

"You see, John? I told you Manolito would bring us good news," Victoria pronounced, as if no other scenario had ever crossed her mind. Grasping her husband's arm again, she beckoned the family and Roy to follow her inside for the evening meal.

* * *

Roy smelled the roast beef before he entered the dining room, and his eyes bulged at the large round table spread with a cloth. He'd never seen dishes like these before—all blue and white and kinda purty. Why was there so many glasses and forks and knives? An' so much food? Greens and mashed potatoes. And a bowl of flowers in the middle to boot.

"Sit here, boy," Buck yanked out an extra chair while Victoria scurried to fetch two more settings for her brother and the newcomer. The men awaited her return before sitting down after John scooted out his wife's chair.

"I ain't seen so much food since Granny died," Roy said.

Victoria smiled. "I am happy you are able to join us, señor," she said, inclining her head toward the guest.

"You will find my sister a far superior cook than I, amigo," Mano added, grinning.

"I dunno Mano. You did a purty good job with Honch's beans," Roy replied.

"You cooked, Manolito? And when did you discover this ability?" Victoria asked with exaggerated interest.

"I am a man of many talents, hermanita mia."

"Well, who's Honch?" Buck asked. "Anyway, these shore ain't no beans. This looks good, Victoria. Real good."

"Gracias, Buck."

Grabbing the mashed potatoes, Buck slapped a large spoonful on Roy's plate, then speared him a slice of beef from the platter.

"Mano, did I hear right? Did you say a _judge_ placed Roy in your _custody_?" John asked after everyone was served. "Why, may I ask?"

"Ah, well, John…"

"Mr. Cannon, I was robbing stages with my friend Honch. But Honch got killed. Then Mano took the stage money from me. Then Mano got arrested."

"Arrested?"

"Well, John, you said you were wondering where I was," Mano said in a quiet voice. "The near-sighted _bruto_ of a stage driver could not tell Roy and me apart, and when I stopped to clean up a little before heading into Stokertown to return the money, the marshal and his posse apprehended me."

"Stokertown? Ain't never heared of it," Buck mused, chewing.

"It got worse, Mr. Cannon. An old friend of Mano's got him framed for murder."

"Whaaat?"

"Juano, it is complicated. Suffice it to say, all charges were dropped, the right hombre is now dead...and, oh yes, Roy belongs to me," Mano added with a polite, forced smile.

John shot his brother-in-law a "we'll discuss this later" look, eyed Roy and pointed a fork in his direction. "The High Chaparral is a place for second chances, son, but we'll have no stage robbing here. Your pay's twenty a month. No drinking. No gambling."

"Yessir, Mr. Cannon."

"You know anything about cattle, boy?" Buck asked.

"I know a little about horses."

"Oh? Good. Mano'll show you the bunkhouse after supper," John said as he put a forkful of beef in his mouth. As he chewed, he eyeballed Mano who looked down at his plate. Buck smirked.

Glancing once more at Roy, John turned to his wife. "Victoria, this _is_ delicious."

"Gracias, John."

They ate their food in silence, which suited Mano. He felt a little warm. He had not thought this through. Events in Stokertown were ones he would rather forget. How to explain Dave Redmond anyway? Ay, contra. He still could not believe it. He did not wish to discuss the matter in the presence of either his brother-in-law or sister, at least not now. He looked for an escape before Big John grilled him.

All rose as Victoria began clearing the plates. As soon as John turned to assist his wife, Mano grabbed Roy's good arm and pushed him out of the dining room.

"Con permiso. Now, Roy. Vamonos. Andale."

"Ain't we havin' coffee?"

"No, we _ain't_! We'll have some with the boys in the bunkhouse. Come along, Roy. You're going to enjoy meeting them and besides, we need to find you a bunk."

Mano swept Roy out the front door before John turned around.

"Now where did _he_ go?"

"I guess he took ol' Roy to the bunkhouse, John," Buck said with a chuckle. Mano was being cagey and if he knew Mano—and by now he figured he did—something more was behind the story he had almost told.

* * *

Mano hustled Roy across the yard to the adobe brick bunkhouse where a few of the hands sat outside drinking coffee.

"Hey Joe, compadre!" Mano called out to a moustached cowboy in a blue shirt.

"No, you can't borrow any more money. I'm broke till payday!"

"Amigo! How can you ask me this?" Mano asked feigning indignation while flashing white teeth. No one could stay mad at Mano long; that grin would almost disarm Cochise.

"Joe, this is Roy. He's going to be working here for a while. Big John just hired him."

"Welcome, Roy!" Joe offered a hand. "Nice to have you on board. You done much ranchin'?"

"Not really, not so's you could call it ranchin'. I know some about horses, at least that's what Honch used to say."

"Honch was his friend who was killed." Mano explained in a low voice. "Joe, why don't you get Roy a cup of coffee and show him where he will be sleeping?"

"Sure, c'mon Roy. This way." Joe motioned Roy toward the bunkhouse door.

Mano followed to watch.

"This bunk's yours. Stow your gear there." Joe nodded to an upper bunk and gestured toward a wooden crate on the floor.

Roy shook his head yes, then gazed wide-eyed at the middle of the room.

Four hands, among them Pedro Carr and Sam Butler, sat around a table piled high with poker chips. Pedro, a lanky Mexican, slouched lazily, holding his cards against his chest. Sam, sweat glazing his brow, leaned forward staring at the cards in his hand and chewing on the side of his upper lip.

"Amigo Sam," Pedro remarked. "We must get up at dawn to herd cattle. We do not have all night."

"Dang, Pedro. I can't tell if you're bluffing."

Mano watched with interest and smiled to himself. Pedro always rushed things when he was bluffing. If his hand were good, Pedro would savor each moment his opponent delayed. Now he wanted to get things over with fast.

"Aw Pedro. Dagnabbit," Sam groaned.

Roy hovered, watching the game. "I thought Mr. Cannon said no gamblin'," he said at last, failing to see Mano wince and shake his head no. Too late.

"And just who might you be?" Sam looked up from his cards, his deep voice filling the room.

"This is Roy," Joe said. "The boss just hired him."

"Well, Roy, this ain't gamblin'," Sam said. "This is card playin' and danged if that Pedro ain't got me in a hole."

Pedro glared at Roy, a withering look that did not escape Sam.

"You know, Pedro. I think you just might be bluffing. I call," Sam said, tossing two more chips onto the pile and laying out his hand: three tens. "Let's see what you got."

Pedro rolled his eyes, shook his long shaggy black hair, and threw his pair of queens on the table in disgust.

"Amigo, I would have had him if you had not interrupted. Dios mío. Bruto. No te metas en cosas!"

"I...I…," Roy stammered while Mano laughed.

"Kid, you did just fine." Sam rose, raked in the chips and slapped Roy on the back while Pedro rattled on in Spanish that only Mano and Arrigo could follow.

"I leave you in good hands, amigo," Mano said to Roy, then, drawing the younger man to one side, lowered his voice to add, "Momento, one favor I have to ask of you."

"Sure, Mano."

"Please be so kind as not to discuss our little, ah, Stokertown adventure with these gentlemen. And do _not_ let them know you have been released into my custody."

"Okay, Mano."

"It could make things, cómo se dice, uncomfortable for me if they were to talk about it very much, and they would." And I'd never live it down, Mano thought. Mock heroics and an old friend almost sending me to the gallows like a common horse thief in a town without even a cantina.

Roy smiled and tapped the side of his nose with his finger.

"You kin rely on me, ameego!" he drew out the last word to savor it. Mano blinked and forced a slight smile.

"Adiós!"

"Where ya goin'?" asked Roy, crestfallen. "Don't you sleep here, too?"

"Ah, no, compadre. I, er, I sleep elsewhere." Mano said as he edged toward the door. He clasped a hand on Roy's good shoulder.

"Hasta luego, Roy. I will see you later. I have a, uh…." Mano grimaced and gestured to his head. "My head, ah...I must go think." He shot out of the bunkhouse door as if pursued by an angry father with a loaded pistola…which had been known to occur.

"Now, where'd Mano go?" Sam asked staring at the empty doorway.

"Search me," Joe said.

"Hey, I bet he has to 'check the herd,' no?" Pedro hooted at his own joke. Sam and Joe exchanged knowing glances and the other hands looked at the floor or their bunks, anywhere so they wouldn't catch the eye of the bewildered stranger now standing with his mouth open and one hand on the edge of his bunk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lady Luck Chapter Two: Mano Talks**

Outside, Mano hastily saddled Macadoo. Buck ambled over, his own saddle slung across his shoulder as he headed for Rebel. Mano's eyes narrowed to slits. He spoke through gritted teeth, his lips compressed, moving little.

"Compadre..."

"Amigo mío, you don't think you is goin' into Tucson a-lone do you?"

"Buck…." Mano began, cut short by a wave of Buck's hand.

"No side-steppin', Mano. If you be goin' to Tucson, then I be goin' to Tucson. You got that, amigo?"

Mano sighed, shook his head, and flashed a weary smile, "Ay yi yi. Pues, sí, porque no?"

Buck matched his grin, slapped him on the back and within minutes they galloped out the front gate into the twilight, kicking up dust clouds in their wake.

They eased their horses to a gentle lope when they could no longer see the ranch. Mano said nothing. Buck was smart enough to know that if he let Mano stew long enough, whatever was eating him would come out, with the help of a little tequila.

* * *

Things were slow at El Toro Loco. Buck and Mano tied their horses to the hitching rail and banged through the swinging doors of the saloon. A friendly poker game had commenced at a side table. One cowpoke snoozed, legs propped up on a nearby chair. No girls in sight. Probably upstairs. No one nodded, raised an eyebrow, or even looked up as Mano and Buck strode to the bar.

"Tequila for my friend and partner, Mike!"

"Sure Buck. Red-eye for you?" Mike grinned, already pouring the drinks.

"Hey Mano, wanna drink?" Buck slid the glass over to his amigo who leaned against the bar. Mano nodded as he picked up the tequila and made for an empty table in the corner. Buck followed hard on his heels, and both sat down without saying a word. Buck cocked his head to one side and stared at his friend, waiting.

Mano settled back in his chair and sighed, looking at Buck from underneath his hat which all but shaded his eyes. "All right. I will tell you. But you have to promise not to repeat this to your brother, and _never_ to Victoria." Mano's eyes were flat, his lips a thin, straight line. Buck nodded his agreement. This had to be one helluva of a story.

"Buck you know that I have not always lived a, cómo se dice, clean life?" Mano began.

Buck's teeth shone like pearls in the dim corner of the saloon.

"It is not funny, amigo!" Mano allowed himself a slight grin.

"Ay yi yi! Why do I do these things? I was young and the French had closed the university. I should have gone home, but, well, you know Papa. I drifted. I met a gringo, around the same age as I, drifting, like me, not taking life very seriously."

"Like you," Buck interrupted with a grin.

"Sí, hombre. Just like me. His name was Dave Redmond and for a while we rode together. We were a little wild, we stole horses, we stole…. well, never mind what we stole. As I said, we were a little wild and we became good friends. My mother grew ill and I returned to the Rancho Montoya. I never knew what became of Dave until I, what shall I say, until I _arrived_ in Stokertown. I never even heard his name again."

"Yeah, but how you come to be a-rrested?"

"Ah yes, I need to start at the stage. Very well. I had finished canvassing cattle buyers and was on my way back to the rancho when I saw, down at the bottom of an arroyo, two men holding up a stage. I was too far away to do anything about the robbery, but I could watch. The driver shot one of the thieves. The other one grabbed the money sacks and headed down the trail. I knew I could cut him off if I doubled back, so in the spirit of good citizenship, I did this thing. I stopped him cold and relieved him of his ill-gotten gain. However, he did not want to be captured and he judged—correctly of course—that I would not shoot him in the back, so he rode off."

"He ran out on you?" Buck got tickled and couldn't contain his laughter. "He ran out on _you_?!"

"Gracias, compadre," Mano said unamused, lips tight.

"Sorry, Mano, awful sorry—it warn't that funny." Buck looked down and cleared his throat to stem his laughter.

"Well, I was hot, dusty, dry, and quite dirty. I did not want to appear in the town in that condition, especially when I was going to be the hero of the hour, returning the money. So I stopped at a water hole to clean up. I had, foolishly as it turns out, taken off my gun belt and laid it next to the sacks of money. As I was drying my face, eh, here come the town marshal and posse. I bent to pick up the money to give to them. They mistook my intent and the next thing I knew I was led into town at gunpoint. I was the bandito!"

Buck laughed to himself. Big John was right. Mano sure could git hisself into one scrape after another. Buck shook his head and grinned.

Mano glanced sideways at his friend and took a long swallow of his drink. The tequila slid warmly down his throat. Caramba, but this tale might be the death of him. At least if he explained it to Buck this would prevent others from asking. Buck would ward them off.

Mano continued. "I told you about the half blind stage driver at dinner. You have seen Roy. Really? Do I look like him?"

"Spittin' image!" Buck guffawed.

"And the marshal mentioned the name of Dave Redmond. That gave me some hope. If it was the same Dave that I knew and he was somebody important in town, then maybe he could, how do you say, vouch for me."

"Well, was it him, amigo?"

"Sí."

"Well, what did he do? Did he come see you?"

"Sí."

"Mano we ain't gonna get too far if all you kin say is 'sí.'"

Mano shook his head, blinked twice, and sighed. He shifted in his seat and looked Buck square in the face.

"Yes, Dave Redmond was indeed the Dave of my youth. We exchanged stories. The years fled. It was as if we had just run into each other in a cantina…only no tequila. He said he believed my story. He promised to talk to the marshal and took him outside to do so. I waited. Some minutes later the marshal came back and said that Mr Redmond...so strange to hear him called that...that he was sure I was not the robber and as the money had been returned, there was no need to keep me locked up. He said that Dave had asked to see me at the bank once I was released. Naturally, I wanted to thank him. Such a wonderful thing he had done for me."

"So you went over to the bank. Now, this Stokertown. I ain't never heared o' that place."

"The town…well, it is named for its main benefactor."

"Benny who?" Buck's blank expression made Mano smile.

"The man who bought and paid for everything to get the town established."

"Oh!" Buck's eyebrows rose in unison.

Mano swallowed the urge to laugh. Sometimes his good friend was, cómo se dice, a little lacking in vocabulary.

"Well, Mr. Stoker, he owned the bank and Dave worked for him. From what Dave said this man had turned Dave's life around. Dave was a respected and trusted employee and like a son to Stoker. At any rate, I went into the bank and expressed my gratitude, but Dave said he wanted to catch up some more and offered me a chance to get cleaned up at his house. He said his wife would be there and would see I had everything I needed. Oh was the joke ever on me! I could hardly believe that Dave was married. When I got to the house he described, the door was open. I knocked and called out, but no one came, so I entered. Just as I was supposed to."

"What d'ya mean, as you was supposed to?"

"Pues es que… the thing is, when I got into the house I looked for Mrs Redmond, for Dave's wife. I did not find her, but I did find a man lying dead on the floor. Shot. And the gun lying beside him."

"Don't tell me! Let me guess, you jes' had to go over and pick up that gun, didn't you?"

"That's right! Of course, I was supposed to do just that. At that very moment the marshal comes in. I have the gun in my hand. He arrests me for killing…"

"Mr Stoker!"

"Hey, amigo, who's telling this story?"

"Oh Mano, how could you do it?"

"I know, compadre. I did it! I picked up the gun. I framed myself for the murder of Mr. Stoker. At the same time I realized that Dave had to be the one who had set me up."

Buck leaned in and stuck his elbows on the table. He raked his fingertips across his forehead and pulled his hands down the sides of his face, letting his chin come to rest on two fists. He shot Mano a sober look that lasted several seconds.

"You is plumb loco, Mano, you know that? Plumb loco!" Buck said at last, shaking his head as he sat back in the chair and drank a swig of red-eye.

"Sure. You do not have to remind me. Of course, I ended up back in jail and this time they were prepared to hang me. They began building the gallows just outside the jail window so that I could see the progress." Mano downed the rest of the tequila and fingered the glass.

Strains of a tinny rendition of "Buffalo Gals" wafted their way from the piano across the room. Buck glanced at the music man, nodded and sighed, "Well they's more. I know they's more."

"Yes, there is more. Later that day they bring in Roy. They have caught him trying to rob another stage and he has made a mess of it, so they bring him in for trial—probably to hang, too. Naturally, we recognize each other. I wonder how he has come to be a thief, because he does not seem to have much knowledge of the world. We talk and he tells me of his friend Honch. It seems that this Honch was so clever he knew which stages were carrying gold shipments and they only ever held up those stages. How could this be? I was not sure…I got to thinking."

"You got to thinking that your 'friend' Dave, who was big in the bank, would have that information. You got to thinking that he was mebbe the brains o' the out-fit and that prob'ly ol' Mr Stoker found him out and he had to kill him."

"Seguro que sí! Eventually."

"So you had to get yourself out of jail and turn the tables on Redmond somehow."

"Exactamente! I persuaded Roy to fake a fight with me. The marshal came in to break it up and we overpowered him and escaped. Fortunately, Honch had a hideout. A cabin not too far away, just up from the main stage road but pretty well concealed. We holed up there for a while. I cooked some beans, which Roy seemed to enjoy."

"Oh them beans with the chilis and such in 'em like we had that time?"

"Sí."

"Them's good beans"

"Gracias."

"Well, so then whut happened?"

Mano leaned forward. "I will tell you _whut_. During the night Dave sneaked into the cabin and held a gun on us. I got him to talk. It was as I had begun to imagine. He became angry when he learned Mr. Stoker had not left anything to him in his will. He would have only the respect and admiration of the people in the bank and the town. He would have only his own wits and ability in business to rely on. So he had been stealing the gold shipments and the old man was getting suspicious. It seemed the arrival of an old friend gave him a way of getting out of his dilemma at the expense of…"

"You!"

"Sí! I was to hang and tie everything up in a neat package."

"C'mon Mano, you ain't finished this story yet, what happened next?"

"Well I managed to persuade Dave that I would take over for Honch. I was a dead man anyway. He wanted us to hold up the stage the next day as there was going to be a gold shipment on it. We agreed to the deal and he returned to town. The next day Roy and I rode up to the overlook, where I had seen the first stage robbery, and we watched the stage drive through safely. Roy wanted to rob it, but I had already told him that I _never_ rob stages. Luckily, he has little confidence in himself and allows me to tell him what to do. That night Dave came round and I made the excuse that my horse had thrown a shoe. Roy was good. I was worried he might confess that we had done nothing. However, he kept quiet and just looked at me. I knew he was putting himself in my hands."

"I thought Roy looked like a good boy."

"Dave insisted that we make sure to get the stage the next day because it would be carrying a lot of money and he himself would be on board. That was my chance. The next morning, Roy and I rode into town and hid until the stage pulled out. We gave it a big head start. Then Roy and I made sure to ride all through the town like real banditos shooting our guns in the air and letting everyone, especially the marshal, see that it was us. Of course, the marshal and his posse chased us. The trick was to let them chase us right out to the stagecoach where they would catch Dave and not us."

"That sound like a purty good plan, Mano. But a little chancey. I'm guessin' it worked."

"Sí. The marshal stopped Dave as he drove back towards Stokertown. Dave told him that Roy and I robbed the stage, shot the driver and guard, and took off with the money. We could not have been doing that at all, as the marshal was well aware. Dave stupidly tried to shoot his way out. He shot Roy in the arm and he shot at me. Roy killed him. The marshal could hardly believe it. I tell you, hombre, the epitaph for Dave should read that he was the one man who could not see the truth about himself."

"Oh Mano that's sad, sad, but at least you and Roy got out of it alive—that could have turned out so different!"

"Sí compadre, I know. The judge decided that Roy had really only been led into bad behavior and if I, Manolo Montoya, would agree, he would be handed over into my custody for the length of his suspended sentence."

"Yeah, Mano, that's whut I don't git."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, how come that judge he thought you'd be responsible for Roy? I mean you kin hardly look after yourself." Buck cracked a grin as wide as Tennessee.

Mano raised the back of his hand in mock anger, as if to hit Buck, but then he broke into a smile and laughed. How good it was to be back with his friend and out of that jail. He did not want to admit how worried he had been, when it really seemed as if he would stretch a rope, as they say. Ay! Dios mío! but it had been a close thing.

* * *

"Gracias, Buck," Mano said as they swung into their saddles outside the saloon.

"Fer listenin'?"

"Sí. The thing is, I like this Roy very much. I am hopeful that he will be able to help out around the rancho. But I am stuck with him, compadre, for three years. Three years, amigo. You know I do not like responsibility."

"Why didn't you tell the judge no?"

"Amigo, you have seen Roy. He is, cómo se dice, easily led and easily confused. I do not think he could survive on his own. But I need help in this thing. So I have brought him to the rancho."

"Boys in the bunkhouse'll hep."

"Let us just hope that he can do something...besides rob stages, compadre, or he will not last long with your brother!"

Laughing, they urged their mounts to a canter and rode through the night to the High Chaparral.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lady Luck Chapter Three: The New Hand**

Roy lay still in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. He didn't much like heights. Honch never made him sleep in no top bunk. Course they didn't have nothing but bottom bunks. Weren't even bunks really, just straw pallets thrown on crates. These Chaparral fellas sure could snore up a storm. Cain't nobody sleep with all that snorin'. Bet Mano sleeps in that big house. Course they all is his family so that's where he oughta stay.

Roy thought of his family. Momma and them buttermilk pies. Daddy. All gone now. Momma got took by the flu and Daddy got kilt by some drifter who said he owed him money. Nobody left. Honch gone now, too. Well, mebbe there would be a place on this ranch fer him. If nobody got mad at him. If nobody hollered at him. Roy's eyelids grew heavy. He drifted off.

It seemed like only ten minutes, but then Joe was hollerin' and everybody was pullin' on boots. Must be mornin'. Roy started to swing outta bed, but he remembered he was way up high and caught himself mid-swing. His eyes grew round and he looked down. Well, it weren't too far. He slid off the bunk and landed with a thump in his stocking feet.

Roy glanced out the open door and spied a couple of bowls of water. Fellas heading out jes' had their boots and pants on, no shirts, and they was washin' up before they finished dressing. Roy stomped into his boots and followed. Dang. I ain't got nuthin to wipe my face with, he realized, watching the others drying off. Gol-durnit, I just cain't fit in 'round here. He looked down, red-faced, and spun round to head back in the bunkhouse only to run into Joe, holding up a small towel.

"I figured you could use this," Joe said. "I expect you didn't bring one with you."

"Thanks, Joe!" Roy beamed. He hurried to splash himself with water and towel off—not much need to shave—and pull on his shirt. By then he was smelling bacon.

Nothin' in Roy's whole life ever tasted as good as the bacon, eggs, and biscuits that morning. He didn't even remember Momma or Granny ever makin' so much food before. He drank a whole cup of strong hot coffee. These boys sure had it made with all this free food. Anyways, he was ready to go to work, but he didn't know what he could do with his arm still ailing. He found Joe down by the corral.

"Hey Joe, watcha want me to do?"

"Well Roy, what can you do? Can you work cattle?"

"Nope, never been around 'em before. I mean I come acrost 'em sometimes out there," he waved in the direction of the desert, "but I jest steer clear of 'em."

"I see. How about horses?"

"Oh I know a bit about horses."

"Well, an awful lot of stuff we don't need in the corral comes out of the wrong end of a horse," Joe said, grinning. "And we need to get it cleaned up. Can you take that bucket and shovel and clear that corral?"

"Shore I can!" Roy grabbed the nearby bucket and shovel and lumbered toward the corral, pausing at the gate. Joe's brow furrowed. He stuck a toothpick in his mouth to chew and watched, appraising. He had expected Roy to barrel into the corral, pail and shovel clanking. Nope. Instead, Roy set these down, slid the gate latch, opened the gate without a squeak, and eased his bulk inside the fence before bending to reach back for the bucket and shovel. He placed these inside the corral before latching the gate again. He stood in silence, contemplating the remuda. Joe leaned against a bunkhouse post, watching now with interest.

Roy lifted the bucket and shovel and tiptoed toward the herd; the horses parted with nary a raised head. He edged near a pile of dung, set down his bucket and, grasping the shovel near its head with the hand of his good arm, scooped up the pile. With a muffled plop, the dung landed in the pail. Then he repeated the process, moving through the horses as if he were invisible. They paid him no mind. When he had finished, he reversed his tracks and exited the corral as he entered...to find Joe waiting for him, arms crossed.

Panic flared. I've gone and done it, Roy thought. Gonna get fired. His good hand shook a bit as he looked at Joe.

"Roy?"

"Yes, Joe?"

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"Do whut?"

"Move quiet around horses?"

"Oh, Honch taught me. Cuz if we wuz gonna steal someone's horse, we didn't want 'em to know it too soon. And that means you need to be real quiet and gentle. Also, the horses seem to like it better—and they liked me better—when I did it thataway."

"Well, Roy, I think I've got a job or two for you then. C'mon with me and I'll show you what needs doing next."

Roy beamed till his face felt like it was gonna crack. Heck, Joe liked him!

* * *

Mano lazed on the wooden slatted hammock strung between posts on the rancho porch. He blinked and gazed at the early morning sky, cloudless and blue. He inhaled the smell of straw and sage. Amazing what days in a cell within sight of one's personal gallows could do for a man's appreciation of the simple things in life. Simple things, eh? Mano wondered how Roy was getting along. He was loathe to go to the bunkhouse and find out, and he felt guilty about that.

"Mano ain't you ever gonna git goin'?"

"No, Buck, I am not!" The grin on Mano's face belied the harshness of his tone.

"Well, we need to git our corral fence fixed again, and then there's that bunch o' mavericks we spotted few weeks back. If we don't round 'em up and drive 'em down to Chaparral, the A-patch will git 'em and our ranch won't be worth ownin'."

Buck was right, of course. They had not been to their cabin for many weeks and if some work were not done soon, the whole place would fall to ruin. It had seemed like such a good idea to buy the Patterson spread. To have a little piece of this Arizona territory that did not belong to their relatives, but to them! Ay, Bendita! Why was he, Manolo Montoya, taking on all these responsibilities? Had he not come to Arizona to get away from such things?

"Vamonos, compadre," Mano's tone was lighter and his heart now, too, as he sat up in the hammock, then stood and stretched. "Un momento, por favor," he held up a hand, turned and hurried inside, returning with his brown suede jacket draped over his arm moments later.

"What you got there, S'nor Montoya?" Mano's jacket looked a might bulky to Buck.

"Nada, amigo. Nada."

Buck had already saddled both Rebel and Macadoo and led them to the hitching rail by the porch. Mano wouldn't feel like going up to their place, Buck knew. But a little more time together might wear off the smell of Stokertown and right now that's what Mano needed. Besides, the main Chaparral herd was sold. It was a good time to git goin' before Big John came up with a pile of new jobs for the both of them.

That's pretty much what Buck told Big John after Mano had shuffled Roy out last night. John grunted and scowled but voiced no objection. Victoria, overhearing, smiled. Buck saw it and gave her a wink. John and Victoria knew their brothers could get restless and it was best not to try to keep too tight a rein.

Mano and Buck mounted up. Buck kicked Rebel and headed for the gate but Mano, spying Roy sitting on the porch in front of the bunkhouse, nudged Macadoo in that direction instead.

"Hola, Roy! How goes it?" Mano called from his horse. Roy looked up, startled. Mano gave him no time to answer. "Amigo, I must check on my own rancho. I will see you in a few days, eh? Stay out of trouble, hombre!" Mano waved a gloved hand and urged Macadoo into a gallop without waiting for a reply.


	4. Chapter 4

**Lady Luck Chapter Four: Tucson Is Paradise**

Open-mouthed, eyes blinking, a disappointed Roy watched Buck and Mano gallop out the gate. Dang, he ain't said hardly a word to Mano since they got to the Chaparral. He wanted to tell Mano how grateful he was to have a job and a place to stay. Mebbe they'd all like him well enough and he could stick around. If he jus' didn't make anybody mad.

Joe had told him to clean and sort the tack. Roy looked down at the tangled pile of leather, ropes, bridles, and harnesses. Sure was a lot of it. Seemed like Joe had found every piece of leather in the whole durn ranch and plunked it at Roy's feet. He sat under the covered bunkhouse porch and sighed. Well, at least he was in the shade and smellin' fresh desert air. Next to him was a bucket with water, some saddle soap, a sponge and a clean soft cloth. It was gonna take him days to get all this suppled up and clean. Roy sighed again and reached for a bridle strap.

"Roy?"

"Yes, Joe?"

"Can you do all the long harness first? We need to hitch up the buckboard in a little while and head to Tucson for supplies."

"Sure thing, Joe."

Roy picked out all the bits of leather that made up harness for the buckboard and set to work with enthusiasm. Joe observed him, surprised. He never had seen anyone work on harness like Roy. The boy was quick, methodical, and doing a fine job with only one good arm.

Joe glanced at the sun. No time to watch now. Better get moving. They'd be taking the buckboard and four pack mules. He headed off to make sure the rig and wheels were sound and not termite chewed. Dang termites could make dust of good wood before you knew it.

"Joe?" Sam's deep voice cut through the still morning.

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Take Roy with you in the buckboard. Pedro and Reno can lead two mules each. That should give you plenty of men to get the job done and get back here tomorrow. You stay in town one night only, you got that?" Sam's eyes narrowed and his tone was firm. He stood tall. "Stay outta trouble. Don't get drunk."

Joe just grinned and nodded.

Sam slapped him on the back and laughed, "Well, all right now." He knew Joe'd keep the boys in line. His little brother was a good man. Joe made Sam's job as foreman of the Chaparral a whole lot easier.

By the time Joe got back to the bunkhouse porch, Roy had cleaned the harness and assembled it, ready to be fitted. Even the little brass tacks and buckles gleamed in the sunlight. Joe was impressed. If Roy kept this up, he'd make a top hand real quick.

"Roy, give me a hand hitching up the team. Then you and I will drive into town." Roy's mouth popped open and his eyes widened, but he didn't say a word. He rose, scooted the pile of tack over to the bunkhouse wall, and marched to the buckboard.

"Pedro, Reno!" Joe called as he fetched the team from the corral. The two men jogged over.

"Si, Joe? What do you want us to do?"

"Pedro, you and Reno get your horses and fetch two pack mules apiece. We're going into Tucson for supplies. Besides the buckboard, we're gonna need mules to haul everything back."

"Whoo-wee, Tucson!" Reno whooped, waving his hat in the air.

"You can cut that out right now!" Joe admonished "We're going quick, staying over one night, and leaving early to get back here pronto. No funny business, no fightin', no getting slung in jail for disturbing the peace. Just do your job and earn your pay."

"Sure thing, Joe" said Reno, subdued, disappointed.

Pedro shoved Reno in the back in the direction of the corral. Meantime, Roy had finished hitching the buckboard and was poking under the front seat.

"We got everything, Roy?"

"I think so, Joe. Water, shotgun, shells…."

"We'll take a bite o' this too, I think." Joe tossed a small sack to Roy, who peeked inside. Beef jerky. Roy grinned. Well at least they wasn't gonna starve.

Pedro and Reno rode up leading the mules. Joe slapped the reins down on the team and the buckboard lurched forward. Roy almost lost his balance, grabbed the back of the seat with his good arm, and settled in, watching all around him as they drove out the gate and past saguaros that seemed to touch the sky.

"I ain't never been to Tucson, Joe," Roy said after a few miles.

"Never?"

"Nope. Ain't really never been nowhere till I met up with Honch and he got killed and then I met up with Mano."

"Oh, how'd you meet Mano," Joe asked.

Wait. What did Mano say? Don't say nuthin' 'bout nuthin'. Sweat beads popped out on Roy's forehead. He squirmed.

"Oh, Joe, that's a long story," Roy stammered. "I...I...I don't wanna talk about it now."

"That's all right, Roy," Joe said in a calm voice, smiling slightly. He'd find out later. We'll see how Roy holds his tequila. Joe chuckled to himself.

"Well, Roy, Buck Cannon likes to say Tucson is paradise. Paradise. We'll see what you think when we get there."

Paradise. Roy liked that idea. He liked Joe. He settled down in his seat to stare at the saguaros and nodded his head.

* * *

Mano and Buck grimaced as they rode into the yard of the C-Bar-M. The corral gate—which like the rest of the corral was made of small rough-hewn cedar logs—was indeed down, blown by a high wind no doubt.

"Hombre, I told you to use nails," Mano said, shaking his head.

"I use nails but I gonna need some help from you this time, S'nor Montoya."

"Sí," Mano sighed and nodded.

At least the cabin was clean. One room with an open-fire kitchen and sleeping and eating areas—it was plain and functional. Big John's men had used it for a line shack that summer and had been given orders to leave it in good shape or face a pounding from Buck. Not a man doubted Buck. Cleanliness was preferable to getting knocked around.

Buck and Mano fed and watered their horses, took a drink from the well for themselves, rolled up their sleeves and set to work repairing the corral. In a few hours, the crude gate latched again.

"I got to get John to send a crew up here to put up a new co-rral," Buck said. "His men be using this place more than you an' me."

"I leave that to you, compadre. Buena suerte." Mano held little hope that Big John Cannon would part with either men or supplies, but if anyone could talk him into it, Buck could.

"Mano, how 'bout we take Rebel and Mac and see if we cain't spot them mavericks? Bet we got about ten or fifteen up here anyway."

"It's getting late, amigo. How about you do the scouting and I will stay here and fix us some of those beans you like so well, eh?"

"Tha's a good idea, amigo. A-dios."

Mano smiled to himself as Buck strode over to Rebel, mounted, and galloped out. Truth was, Mano needed to be alone to think...or not to think. It had been many weeks since he had been alone...not to mention many weeks since he had been with a woman. Ay yi yi. Mano shook his head and sighed. He fetched a bucket of water from the well and walked inside the cabin where he busied himself preparing supper and singing, "Li de di di...la gallina."

Buck and Rebel galloped up the crest of a hill that offered a good vantage point. Buck's sun-strained eyes scanned the horizon, alert. Looked like, oh, a dozen or so mavericks grazing on some sweet grass in the south valley, not too far from a spring fed pond. Good water on this land. No wonder John always wanted it. Buck smiled, glad it was his and Mano's and not Big John Cannon's, even though it was a whole lotta work. Well, them little fellers'd stay put till mornin'. Buck shifted in his saddle to survey the rest of the area.

"What the…?" Buck's jaw dropped. He grabbed his binoculars and peered through the lenses. Down in the arroyo, as big as you please, a herd, oh thirty, forty, of the purtiest mustangs a man could ever hope to see. They looked young. Yearlings. Oh, my, my, my...and on their land. He kicked Rebel….

* * *

"Whoa," Joe pulled the rig up to Tucson's livery stable in late afternoon. The street was quiet, hot, dusty. Roy, who had nodded off a few miles back, sat bolt upright. He jumped out to unhitch the rig. Reno and Pedro led their mounts and mules around back while Joe jawed with Mitch who ran the livery.

"Double grain feed and rub 'em down," Joe said. "We'll be by in the morning to pick up the rig and settle up."

"Aw right." Mitch nodded and spat a stream of tobacco juice in the corner. Like Joe, Mitch was a man of few words. He offered Joe a chaw and moved off to tend to the horses when Joe shook his head no.

"Hey, Jose, Reno and I are kinda thirsty, you know. We have been in the saddle a long time," Pedro announced, rubbing his backside. Joe looked at the two hands and laughed.

"Yeah, I'll bet you are. Why don't you head on over to the cantina. Roy and me'll be there directly after we take the Chaparral order to Wiley's and check on things at the feed store. No trouble, y'hear?"

"Of course not, Joe. Gracias, amigo," Pedro and Reno scuttled across the street toward Rosa's Cantina faster than cockroaches out of a pantry.

Roy smiled. He liked sticking with Joe.

"Now don't say nothin' while I dicker with Wiley at the general store. He always tries to charge us more than he oughta," Joe admonished Roy, who nodded.

"You kin trust me, Joe. Not a word."

True to his word, Roy said nothing, staring blankly even when Wiley asked him how he was.

"New hand. He don't say much," Joe said, fighting not to laugh.

Roy stared, mouth clamped tight.

"We'll be by 8:00 in the morning to load up the order, Wiley," Joe said after the negotiations had concluded. "Make sure Harris at the feed store has our salt blocks and grain down here by then, too."

"You got it, Joe," said Wiley, who much preferred dealing with Buck Cannon than Butler. Buck could be distracted by a free or not so free apple. Joe stuck to business.

"I didn't say nuthin', Joe," Roy said as they walked out of the store.

"No you didn't. You did real good, Roy."

At the cantina, Pedro and Reno sat at a round table near the window, shoveling in enchiladas, tortillas, and beans, washing it all down with beer. Roy and Joe walked in.

"Well, thanks a heap for waitin' on us, Pedro."

"Ah, Joe, amigo - I er - I was - very hungry, you know?"

"I suppose you've got the same excuse, Reno?"

"We ordered for you, Joe, but we told 'em not to bring the food till you got here. Didn't want it gettin' cold."

As if on cue, a brown eyed senorita with long wavy black hair emerged from the kitchen, holding a laden tray resting on an ample hip. Her full red skirt swished as she moved. The folds of her white blouse suggested a becoming shape beneath. She paused at the table to deliver plates of enchiladas and mugs of beers, flashing a smile before sashaying back to the bar.

"Oh, well, thanks," Joe stammered.

Roy's jaw gaped again. If it stayed like that it'd be full of flies before long, Joe thought to himself, grinning.

"Take a seat Roy," Joe pulled out a chair as he sat down.

The only noise was that of hungry men chewing and guzzling pitchers of beer. Rosa's was a much better choice than El Toro Loco where the whiskey was fine but the food was not. This cantina had an excellent cook, Old Rosa herself, a short round woman in a greasy apron who seldom emerged from the back. Her husband, Ramón, a large, jovial, sweaty hombre, tended bar. The beer was okay, but the pretty senoritas, well they were the salsa on the side, so to speak. Easy on the eyes.

Bellies full, the Chaparral men sat with cups of hot coffee in front of them, leaning back and jawin' about the events of the last few days. Roy sat quiet. He had no idea what most of it was they was talking about. So he sipped his coffee. Then Joe said he'd fetch him another one from the bar, which was mighty kind of him. Dang, that coffee shore didn't taste like Honch's or Mano's. Kinda strong and a little bitter after ya swallowed.

After a couple of cups, Joe started asking Roy about Mano, how they'd met up. Roy knew he had to keep his mouth shut about that. Mano had ast him to. Why was that? He didn't know. But Mano ast him. Roy's eyelids grew heavy and Joe's face got kinda blurry. Roy couldn't exactly understand him no more. Roy started to say somethin' about stagecoaches that he knew he shouldn't oughta. Then Joe got real blurry...and Roy slumped in his chair, head thrown back, out cold.

"Aw, hell!" Joe swore. That brandy he'd laced Roy's coffee with had been too strong for a young man not used to drinking. He was gonna have to wait to pry the story outta Roy.

Shoot. They'd have to get bedded down for the night now. Since Roy was gonna be no help at all, that meant dragging him to the boarding house. Well, better get on with it. Reno grabbed one of Roy's arms and Joe, the other. Pedro gathered their gear and tossed some money on the table.

"Gracias, Ramón. Hasta luego, amigo."

Before Ramón could lift a hand in reply, the guys bumped out the door, hauling the unconscious Roy like a 200 pound sack of potatoes, his dead weight making him even heavier than they imagined possible.


	5. Chapter 5

**Lady Luck Chapter Five: Rescued**

Hooves thundered outside the cabin and Mano guessed that Buck had returned. His friend could never just ride in quietly; always he had to make a grand entrance. Buck burst through the cabin door.

"Mano...Mano!" Buck rasped, gasping for breath.

"Buck, Buck!" Mano shouted back although his face by then was only inches from Buck's.

"Mano, guess whut I seen?"

"Whut?" Mano grinned, mimicking his friend.

"Huh?" Buck blinked, puzzled. He continued. "Well, look here, we got about fifteen or twenty head o' cattle, mavericks. But we got somethin' a whole lot better 'n that." Buck paused to suck in air and swell out his chest in pride, "We got thirty head o' young mustangs!"

Now this was interesting! "Are you sure compadre?" Mano asked, unconvinced.

"Shore I'm shore!" an indignant Buck replied.

"Thirty head, you say?"

"Sí, ameego. Thirty!"

"Well, tomorrow we will go and gather them up. That is going to make coming up here worth the ride, hombre."

"Worth it just to spend some time away from Big John, ain't it, Mano?"

"Well, that, too, is true." Mano agreed, smiling again.

Buck had missed Mano's humor-someness. His friend and partner never took nothing too serious. At least rounding up horses and cattle would give him something to con-sider instead of all that had been happenin' last few weeks. Buck understood old friends. They wasn't always what you thought they was. To have a friend set you up to hang, shoot. Well, that old friend was dead and Mano was alive and tha's what he needed to remember. Jest gotta forget the rest.

Mano was thinking along similar lines himself. Life was good. Ahora, the opportunity to work and feel clean again. Clean with honest sweat and toil. Shaking his head, which seemed now too full of thoughts, Mano heaped steaming spoonfuls of pinto beans (his only specialty) onto the two tin plates already laid on the table.

"Please," Mano gestured with his hand for Buck to sit down.

Buck took a deep whiff. The cabin was clean, real clean. And they was plates, forks, napkins, and mugs on the table. His stomach growled as he smelled the beans. He remembered he hadn't eaten since that big meal of Victoria's the night before. Buck sat down without ceremony, tucked a napkin under his chin, grabbed a spoon, leaned in, and started shoveling beans into his mouth, which was very close to the edge of his plate.

Mano grinned and shook his head. He let go his worries. Food and friendship, who could ask for more? He, too, sat down, but even though he was hungry, he ate with more reserve, although he enjoyed the food as much. He nodded to the stack of soft warm tortillas on a plate in the middle of the table, and then helped himself to one.

Buck grabbed two tortillas with his left hand and bit, adding a chunk of tortilla to the mouthful of beans he was chewing. These was good. Mano must have been practicing on Roy. Them beans tasted fine, and now here he'd done made tortillas, too. Mebbe Victoria was givin' him lessons?

Mano was pleased he had remembered to swipe the tortillas and spices before Buck and he had left the rancho. His sister could cook, and he could steal her cooking...that is how it should be. Satisfied, he savored his tortilla and beans and tried not to watch Buck gobbling his meal, bean juice trickling down his chin. Ay yi yi! His good friend had absolutely no table manners.

After the food, the two men drank cups of fresh coffee—Mano sipping and Buck slurping. The coffee was good—hot and strong, although Buck had heaped a big spoon of sugar in his. It was fortunate that Buck had remembered sugar, because for Mano that was not a priority. He preferred his coffee just as it came—unless it was laced with un poquito de coñac. Eh, now that the thought had occurred to him, he rose and retrieved a small bottle from his saddlebags. He poured some into Buck's coffee as he passed, then flavored his own with a more generous measure. Ah, this was fine, sitting here in silence and sipping un carajillo, especially this coñac which he had lifted from Papá's stock during his last visit to the Rancho Montoya.

"Mano?" Buck's voice intruded.

"Sí?" Mano replied lazily.

"Don't you worry 'bout Roy. Joe'll look after him."

It had not occurred to Mano to worry about Roy, but he nodded in agreement.

* * *

The sun shone strong and bright through the streaky windows of the bare rented room where the Chaparral boys had spent the night in Tucson. Pedro blinked and dunked his head in a basin of water. It had been a bad idea to take that bottle of tequila to bed with him.

Reno rose, stretched his back and yawned. Well, it wasn't his bunk, but the bed hadn't been too bad. Since they hadn't stayed up all night playing cards and drinking, he'd had a good night's sleep.

Joe shook Roy for the third time. "ROY!" he yelled in his ear. Roy's eyes popped open wide and he stared straight at Joe, startling the cowboy who jumped a step backwards.

"Yeah, Joe?" Roy croaked. His voice sounded funny, his tongue was sour and his throat kinda dry. His head felt a little foggy, too. He couldn't remember last night.

"C'mon boys, let's get going!" Joe headed out the door, down the hall, and outside, in the direction of the livery stable. They still had to load the wagon and pack mules, and he wasn't too sure he could count on Pedro to move anything without dropping it. Dang, he hadn't noticed that bottle. He was getting old.

The bunkhouse boys ran to catch up with Joe as he strode across the street. Pedro lurched. Reno loped. Roy just stumbled. At the livery, they set about hitching the buckboard team, saddling the horses and putting the pack saddles on the mules.

Joe and Roy climbed up on the buckboard and made for Wiley's while Pedro and Reno followed, leading the mules. Joe made short work of sorting what goods needed to go on a mule and what remained in the wagon. Pretty soon everything was stowed. It was still only 8:30 in the morning when they rumbled out of Tucson.

Roy, lost in thought, paid little attention to his surroundings as the buckboard bumped along the Tucson road. Last night was still a blur. He was pretty sure he hadn't said anything about Stokertown, and he sure as heck wasn't gonna blurt nothing out now or ask Joe what he had said. Best just stay quiet and let Joe think whatever he wanted. That way he'd be keeping his word to Mano and doing that was pretty important to Roy. He was sure lucky Mano was such a good fella and had got him this job at the Chaparral. The boys was all so friendly. Joe shore seemed to like him. His arm was feeling a lot better today. Not doing much with it the last couple of days had helped it heal some, and pretty soon it would be good enough for him to do a regular day's work. The pile of tack was waiting for him to clean when they got back. He'd had a day away from that at least.

The buckboard lurched along at a lazy pace. Pedro and Reno trailed on horseback, leading mules. Suddenly Pedro saw something out of the corner of his eye that he did not like.

"Joe, Apaches...a la izquierda, ah, I mean to your left!" Pedro didn't shout, but his voice was clear with a hard edge. Joe shifted left and caught sight of a raiding party that had appeared just over the rise.

"Get ready, boys!" Joe handed the reins to Roy and slid the shotgun out from under the seat. The buckshot wouldn't do much but pepper them, but it might give 'em something to think about if the spray hit close to their faces.

The Apaches on Joe's left kept their distance. They maneuvered their horses just out of shotgun range and kept pace with the buckboard. Joe didn't like it. If they weren't going to attack, why were they just sticking with 'em? It was a puzzle right enough.

"Other side," Reno announced, loud enough to be heard but not shouting. These boys knew not to tip off the Apaches that they were wise to 'em.

Joe looked right and saw a similar sized bunch keeping up with them there, too. He remembered the flats were ahead, a wide open stretch where the Apache could charge in from both sides, making off with all the supplies, horses, mules, and maybe their scalps. Something had to be done and quick, before they reached the flats. He propped the shotgun between Roy and himself and grabbed the reins. To the left a little arroyo was coming up, too narrow for the buckboard. On the right, a trail opened, leading up into the hills, not great for the buckboard, but at least there was cover and they'd have the advantage of surprise. Decision made.

"Hold on, Roy!" Joe slapped the reins down hard on the team and yelled, "Yee-haw," turning the buckboard toward the trail. Pedro and Reno strove to keep hold of the mules and ride on either side of the buckboard, flanking it to provide some protection.

It was a long shot, but Joe was past caring. Apaches weren't getting their supplies or scalps. Not today. The Indians wheeled their ponies, quickened the pace and, whooping and firing, bore down on the Chaparral crew. Good thing the Apache were hopeless with rifles unless close up, but those with bows and arrows shot with deadly accuracy. An arrow whizzed just over the spot where Pedro's head had been a second before. At that very instant, Pedro ducked as his horse swerved to miss a saguaro, which the arrow pierced instead. Pedro and Reno spurred their horses while fighting to control the pack mules. Dust clouds swirled up behind them. They managed to get off an occasional shot, but between holding the reins and guiding the animals, none of them could do much. Roy unlimbered his arm from its sling, picked up the shotgun and let fly both barrels. He didn't hit a soul, but the noise, spray of buckshot, and the sight of a man with a weapon pointed at them made some of the Apaches back off a bit, which was okay with Joe.

Suddenly shots rang out ahead of them, aimed at the Apaches beyond. Two riders emerged from billowing clouds of dust, thundering towards the rig and men, firing around them in the direction of the Indians. Thank God, whoever these fellas were. The Apache, odds now more even, broke off the attack, turned their ponies and rode off. The horsemen pursued them a short distance, then pulled up as well.

Joe pulled the exhausted team to a stop. The men breathed hard. Sighs of relief echoed all around.

"Whew."

"That was close."

"Dios mío, I thought we were goners."

The four turned to look in the direction of their returning rescuers. Smiles broke out.

"Hey, Buck, once again you arrive just in time, amigo!" Pedro cried.

"Well, lookee here, Mano. If it ain't our friends Joe and Pedro and Reno and _Roy_!" Buck roared with delight.

"Compadres! What were you thinking?"

"Mano, Buck, boy, we're sure glad to see you." Joe's grin spread ear to ear.

"Tell ya what, boys, it's hot and dusty and you're a bit off course for the Chaparral. Why don't y'all follow us on back to our cabin? We can set a spell, git a cup of coffee and calm down a might before we all ride back to the ranch."

"Much obliged Buck, we'll do that. The horses need a rest anyways."

Laughing and grinning, they rode off together at a comfortable pace, heading for the C-Bar-M. Pedro, Buck, and Mano kept up a light banter, but Roy was too dumbfounded to say anything. His friend Mano had come to the rescue again. Dang, Mano could do just about anything. Roy blinked, scratched his belly, took a long breath and exhaled. He kept staring at Mano's back with his mouth open.

Joe glanced at Roy and shook his head. Flies gonna get in that boy's mouth one day for sure if he don't learn to keep it shut.


	6. Chapter 6

**Lady Luck Chapter Six: Corrals**

The trip up to the C-Bar-M was uneventful, but no one relaxed his guard until all the horses and mules were led into the corral and the gate fastened.

"This way, boys." Buck strode toward the cabin, followed by Pedro and Reno and then Joe and Roy. Mano brought up the rear and carried a bucket of fresh water. Stale water might do for washing dishes, but coffee would be made with fresh water on his rancho.

"Here you go, fellas." Inside, Buck hurried to fetch a couple of old packing crates from a corner of the sleeping area where Mano'd stashed them. He didn't understand why crates wasn't good enough to sit on full time, but Mano'd insisted on keepin' that table and four chairs. They was only two people-didn't need four chairs. Well, mebbe they did. Leastways they all had a place to sit at now.

Everyone took a load off while Mano lit the cooking fire and put the coffee pot on to boil. Then he pulled tin cups from a shelf and set them in front of the guests. Buck fetched the sugar jar and tossed a spoon on the table. Things looked real homey, Buck thought with pride, a broad smile creasing his face.

"Compadres, how did you get in such trouble?"

"Mano, darned if I know! We left Tucson by the regular route. Apaches come up on our left and then right. I figured they'd set on us just as soon as we reached the flats. The only thing I could think to do was turn up the road towards your place, where the ground is rougher and they'd have less chance to jump us all at once."

"That was good thinking, Joe," Buck chimed in. "But if we hadn't been coming down at just the minute you was coming up, you'd a been crow bait soon enough anyway."

"Yeah. But there was no chance on the flats. They were pacing us and we had the mules. We couldn't a outrun 'em whatever we did. Only chance we had was to come this way and pray."

"Ay Dios mío, I was praying all the time!" exclaimed Pedro, crossing himself for good measure.

"Anyway, lucky for us you were around, Buck and Mano. We're real grateful," Joe added.

"De nada amigo. No hay de que!" Mano held his hand to his chest and dropped his eyes in mock humility. "Now let us all have some coffee and relax for a minute or two and try to forget this unpleasantness. The Apaches are gone, we are here, and the coffee is ready."

Mano poured everyone a cup and gestured to the sugar. Roy eyed his cup suspiciously.

"Is something wrong, Roy?" Mano asked.

"Ah, no, Mano, nothing...really, it's nothing."

"No? Clearly something is bothering you, amigo."

"Aw, I was just thinking. Last night we ate a great meal at the cantina in Tucson and then we had coffee. The first cup was okay, but then it, well, it just tasted funny, kinda bitter and all. I 'bout fell asleep at the table."

At Roy's words, Joe swallowed wrong, sputtering and coughing. He set down his cup before he spilled hot coffee and looked down and away till the fit subsided. Mano tilted his chin up and head sideways, mouth shut, watching. He rolled his tongue across the inside of his cheek and spoke.

"Joe, was there something wrong with the coffee last night?"

Joe cleared his throat. "No, Mano, I don't think so."

"Ah, I see. Nothing wrong with it. Pedro, cómo fue el cafe anoche?"

"Pues muy bueno, en mi opinión, amigo."

"Claro. Reno, was the coffee okay last night?"

"Sure was Mano. Capped offa great meal."

"Ah, Roy, did the coffee taste perhaps a little fiery as well as bitter?"

"Now that you mention it Mano, it did."

"Well, do not worry about this coffee. I have brewed it myself and it will be fine, however many cups you may wish to drink." All the while Mano eyed Joe, who refused to meet his gaze.

"Yep. This is real good, Mano," Buck said between slurps.

Joe lifted his eyes to meet Mano's. Mano gave a tight-lipped smile, shook his head no and wagged a finger at Joe, who grinned and shrugged his shoulders. No matter. Roy'd spill the beans sooner or later.

Mano knew Roy had been an easy target, but he was pleased that Joe had tried to wheedle information out of him using strong drink. If ever there was a muchacho with no stomach for alcohol, it was Roy. The trick had backfired on Joe and Mano liked that.

Buck drained the last of his cup and tilted his chair back a bit. "Boys, I think we've got ourselves a problem, and you've got yourselves a problem. I think we could help each other out, if you don't mind." He spoke in a deep, deliberate tone. The others listened.

"Well, them A-patch will be keepin' an eye out for you coming back down our road towards the Chaparral anytime soon, won't they?" Buck continued.

"Seguro que sí!" Pedro agreed.

"It'd be better if you had a few more guns to protect you to get the supplies back to the ranch, wouldn't it?"

"Buck, what are you driving at? You know it would." Joe knew when he was being played for a sucker.

"Well, if Pedro was to ride, sneaky like, after dark, he could mebbe make it back to the ranch without the A-patch knowin' it and come back tomorrow with Big John, Sam, and some o' the others."

"Sí, I could do this easily!" Pedro's narrow chest puffed out and his lanky frame stretched tall as he sat up straight.

"An' if the rest of you stayed here for the next day or so, waitin' on Big John and the boys from the ranch, you could he'p us fix up _our_ extra corrals."

"What d'ya need with extra corrals, Buck?" Reno asked, puzzled. "I ain't seen but yours and Mano's horses out there."

"Well, compadres, that is because we have not gathered all our stock to put in the corrals...yet. We were planning to do that when we heard the sound of gunfire and rode gallantly to the rescue of our valued amigos," Mano explained.

"Stock?" Joe fairly choked with laughter and spat the word out with a mouthful of coffee. "What stock would that be? Some miserable mavericks?"

"Sí, Jose, some miserable mavericks, yes! But also some miserable mustangs." Mano's voice was filled with pride and amusement.

"Mustangs!"

"Yeah, Joe, mustangs! Must be, oh, thirty head up here on _our_ land. And if we had our co-rrals fixed up we could pen the cattle and the horses until we could drive 'em down to Tucson to sell," Buck explained.

"Well, I don't know about that, Buck. We don't get paid for working for you."

"I know that Joe, but you and the boys been using our cabin for a line shack and you been using our co-rral, ain't ya?"

"Well, I guess so."

"In that case you'd just be returning us a little favor for the use you already had, if you see whut I mean," Buck added.

"Hmmm." Joe sounded unconvinced.

"Also, Big John would then not receive a bill from us for the cost of repairing our corral. We would be forced otherwise to deliver this bill, since you have been making use of our property all summer, no?" Mano's voice stayed even. He was clever and very persuasive. Joe could think of no argument to counter. Dang Mano could out-talk the devil himself.

"Okay. But you'd better square it with Big John and Sam when they get here. I'm not taking the blame for doing work on _your_ ranch for nothing!"

"Course Joe, course we will," Buck's smile was broader than the Rio Grande.

Roy listened to the talk. He couldn't believe how friendly everyone was, one to the other. They talked things over. Honch had only ever told him what to do and he'd done it. He'd didn't get a say in whether he oughta do it or not. That had been fine with him, 'cause Honch was his friend and was looking out for him. But now he was learning that things could be different. It was all kinda strange.

"Roy, do you want another cup of coffee?" Mano asked.

"Sure, thanks Mano." Roy held his cup up for a refill, and as Mano poured, he asked, "Mano, do you need a hand with all those mustangs?"

"A hand? What do you mean?"

"Well, like to get 'em gentled and settled down some before you drive 'em to Tucson."

"Oh, can you help with such work, Roy?"

"I sure can. I'm purty good with horses and I'd be proud to help you with your herd."

"Roy moves pretty quiet around horses," Joe observed.

"Joe, can you spare Roy for a few days, a week at the most?"

"Yeah, Mano, I can spare him, but don't you wear him out too much. He's done a lot of work for me and I've still got a lot of work for him back at the ranch."

"Then it is settled, Roy. When the others go back to the Chaparral, you will stay here with Buck and me, and we will see what you can do with our horses."

Roy grinned. Buck grinned. Joe grinned. Pedro and Reno grinned, although they had no idea why. The biggest grin was on Mano's face. Roy...ay yi yi, who knew? We shall see what you can do, hombre.

Mano laughed, clapped a hand on Roy's shoulder and said, "Hey, bravo, muchacho." Roy looked from Buck to Joe to the boys and smiled.

* * *

The early morning sun shone bright through the dusty window straight into Roy's face. He blinked his eyes open. Oh no. It must be gettin' late. Why didn't anybody wake him up? Roy hustled out of his bedroll on the floor, thrust his feet into his boots, and clumped out the door. He paused on the porch.

Banging and sawing noises sounded from the far side of the corral. Out of the shadows of the shed that doubled as a tack room, Reno and Joe emerged, carrying four pieces of timber that looked familiar to Roy. Wait, didn't that wood come from the door that used to shut up the shed? Buck marched out, whistling, holding a small tin pot that rattled. He waved a hammer above his head.

"S'nor Montoya where is you at?" Buck's voice was sing-song, but loud. "Mano!" Buck hollered, several notches louder and sharper.

"Sí, hombre."

Roy jumped at the voice behind him. He looked down to see Mano slouched in a crude chair on the porch, hat pulled down low to cover his eyes, legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

"Mano, get over here and help out with this work, pore fa-vor!" Buck purposely elongated the vowels on the last words, which he knew got on Mano's nerves.

"Buck, compadre…"

"Don't you compadre me, Manolito Montoya. You may have a big name and a big daddy, but you is just a working ranch hand now."

"All right, hombre, I am coming." Then, more to himself, "Para esa mentira." He muttered some other Spanish words Roy did not know. Then Mano levered himself upright, straightened his hat, pulled down his jacket where it had ridden up, and strode over to the corrals. Roy ambled alongside him as if pulled by a magnet.

"Well Roy, glad you finally got up!" Buck smiled at him. "We tried waking you, but you just didn't seem to hear us a-tall!"

"Sorry, Buck. I do sleep kinda sound, I know. What would you like me to do?"

"Well, see this fence wire here, we gotta string that from those posts until we make us about three co-rrals."

"Oh yeah, I see." Roy nodded.

"Maybe S'nor Montoya here will he'p you put up the littlest co-rral over yonder at the edge of this flat stretch."

"Sí, mi patrón," Mano spoke in the voice of a peón, removed his hat and bent his head in mock servility.

Buck just laughed and watched the two walk off. Yesterday, the boys had done a good job of moving some of those extra rails from the main corral down to each of the other three they were building. Jeff Patterson left behind a pile of wood just right for fence posts, too. Now that they'd taken some of the main planks from the tack room, there would be boards and posts enough to make some half decent corrals that the horses couldn't get out of. You just had to have one solid top rail and good posts...fence wire'd do for the rest. Horses only looked at solid stuff, so he figgered he might need to put in a little ditch outside the posts, running it alongside the wire so that there would be a dark line on the ground. Darker the better. The horses would think that was solid.

Yep, they was gonna have four corrals pretty quick. But even then there wasn't gonna be enough room for the mavericks and all the horses, too. Hmmm...what we gonna do about the cattle? Buck mused, scratching the back of his head. Mebbe, if he could work on his brother John…

Hours later, the afternoon sun blazed overhead, beating down on them. Digging post holes made for hot work. Sweat poured off the men, running down their faces, stinging their eyes. Buck decided now that they had about finished the three extra corrals, they'd better head inside to cool down for a while, get some grub, and prepare for the work later in the afternoon. There was gonna be a fair bit of riding to do, for the folks that had horses anyway.

"Okay fellas, time for a break. Let's get some chow."

The men dropped tools and headed for the cool of the cabin. Only Mano lingered a moment, arms folded, looking with satisfaction at the finished corrals. Using the large barn door hinges to make entrances and exits between each corral had been an excellent idea, his counsel of course.

Part of each hinge was attached to an upright gatepost, with the longer piece that would have been fastened across the barn door left to swing free. Through the end of the hinge, a rope was looped that could be swung over the opposite gatepost to close the gate. If needed, they could place a plank across the opening for reinforcement.

Now we can most easily divide and sort our stock, Mano thought. All we must do is drive them into the main corral and separate some from the herd into the other corrals. He was pleased that it had been his idea. The tack room now looked spartan with only one back wall, side posts, and a roof of saguaro rib. But they had needed the wood for the corrals and the door for its hinges.

Mano paused at the cabin porch, dipped his bandana in the water bucket, and wiped his face and hands before tying the sodden cloth around his neck. Ah que maravilla! That felt good, hombre.

* * *

Inside the cabin, the men had collapsed on the chairs, so Mano knew he would be required to cook and fix coffee. Ay Bendita! Buck had been right when he said they were nothing but housemaids. At least Victoria could not see him now. He poured fresh water into the coffee pot and set it to boiling. Adding kindling to the fire, he swung the pot of beans back over the flames to reheat. He sliced a few bits of leftover sourbelly into an iron skillet and edged this atop the fire. Soon the smell of perking coffee and sizzling meat permeated the room. The tired hands looked up. Mano carried a stack of plates, forks, and tin cups to the table. He poured out cups of coffee which the boys grabbed and swallowed. Bueno, as a compliment that was all he was likely to receive. It was sufficient.

"Mano this here's good coffee" Buck muttered between slurps, dumping a heaping spoon of sugar into his cup after the first swallow.

"You always make such good coffee, Mano. Thank you," Roy smiled.

"You're welcome, Roy." Mano smiled at the first real thanks he had received.

"Buck, what are you fixin' for us to do later on?" Reno asked, pushing his hat to the back of his head.

"Well, I thought those of us with horses could take a little ride and gather them few mavericks and put 'em in the main corral."

"I thought you wanted those corrals for mustangs," Joe exclaimed.

"For a fact I do. But I got a eye-dee about gittin' them cows outta here sooner rather than later."

After the sun sank a bit, the coffee revived them a little, and the beans filled 'em more, Joe, Buck, and Reno headed out for roundup. Mano begged off, making the excuse that there was still work to do both in the cabin and at the corrals to prepare to receive the cattle.

Buck looked at him sideways.

"Aw right, S'nor Montoya." Buck wasn't convinced, but at least Mano'd have Roy to keep him company.

"Mano, watcha want I should do first?" Roy asked.

"First we need to wash these dishes and then...well, amigo, the tack shed needs windproofing a little. There are some canvas tarps tucked away in there that I thought we could use to create some sides and provide a bit more shelter for our tack, such as it is."

"Great! Let's git goin'." Roy followed Mano's directions and put the leftover food away. He tied up the burlap bags of dried beans and coffee. Together they washed and dried the dishes and returned them to the shelves. They wiped down the table for good measure before heading outside.

Roy ran toward the shed. Mano sighed and followed, walking and humming a tune about chickens. One did not need to run in the heat of the afternoon, after all.

By the time Buck, Joe, and Reno reappeared driving twenty head of mavericks, Mano and Roy had finished constructing their half-solid, half-tent tack shed. Roy rushed to open the gate to the main corral and stood on the edge of it with his arms spread wide to encourage the cattle to head straight in. Mano had dragged a trough, now filled with water, to the far corner. On the ground, he'd scattered hay left over from their winter feed. The mavericks made straight for the water. This dry country made man and beast alike more grateful for water than food.

"Hey Mano, you done good! That tack shed is lookin' better. An' you got water and hay in the co-rral for the cows, too. Tha's real good."

"Sí, mi patrón, I aim to please." Mano bowed, doffing his hat, mimicking the poor peón again. Buck grinned and slapped him on the back.

At least Manolito was jokin' agin like he use-ta. Now all Buck had to do was to persuade Brother John to take them cows with him when he left. Nothin' to it. Buck stroked his chin with a gloved hand and raised his eyebrows a might. Mebbe nothin' to it. Well, we gonna see 'bout that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Lady Luck Chapter Seven: The Brothers Cannon**

John Cannon glared. He was irritated as he rode with Sam, Pedro, and Wind, a young half-breed Pawnee, toward the C-Bar-M mid-morning of the next day. He couldn't tear himself away from the High Chaparral till then. Darn fool hands can't even get a load of supplies back from Tucson. Big herd was sold but there was work to do at the ranch and now another delay. He hadn't bought Pedro's cockadoodled story about Apaches attacking. Apaches should be in the mountains by now. Wind said as much. Ah, what was it Wind said? "Perhaps they have not all gone, Mr. Cannon." Whatever that meant.

Nope. John knew exactly what Buck and Mano were up to. They just figured they'd get themselves a few more days to lie around or they'd wrangle some free work outta Joe, Reno, and that new hand, Roy.

John frowned. He never did get the straight story on that kid out of Manolito. Hmmph. Why should that come as a surprise? Was Mano ever straight with anybody? Darn brother-in- law. Those Montoyas. John's brow darkened as he thought of his father-in-law, the most exasperating man God ever placed on this earth. Then Victoria's beautiful face flashed across his mind and he smiled despite himself. He loved his wife. Truth be told, he was fond of Mano, too. Of all the dang fool relatives he had to get stuck with a brother and brother-in-law…his thoughts trailed off as he and the boys crested the rise above the C-Bar-M just after noon.

"Well, looka there." John exclaimed as they peered down into the valley where the little cabin, lake, and corral lay. Only there was not just one corral. There were three, maybe four, corrals and the main one had cattle in it.

"Looks like somebody's been busy, Mr. Cannon," Sam said.

"Yesss," Cannon drew out the word. "Yes, it does, Sam."

Wind remained silent, eyeing both men.

* * *

"Uh oh," Mano said to Buck in a low tone as he spied the riders heading down the hill toward the cabin and corrals. "Here comes your brother, amigo." Buck nodded, shifted his head to pop his neck, and rehearsed what he was going to say as the four Chaparral men rode in and dismounted. Buck ran to greet John while Joe, Reno, and Roy stopped what they were doing to lean against the corral fence and watch. Mano stood a few paces off.

"Brother John! Brother John! It's nice to see ya!"

"Buck, what the…"

"I see Pedro fetched you."

"Yes, Pedro fetched us. Now what's all this talk about Apaches? Buck, where are my buckboard, mules, and supplies?"

"Oh, them. Well, John, they's right over there. Everythin's safe."

"Sí, John. We had to fight off the Apaches to keep them that way. It was not safe for Joe and the team to continue to the Chaparral without..." Mano interjected, his voice trailing off as John's icy glare froze him.

"Uh, Mano's right, Mr. Cannon," Joe spoke up. "Just before the flat stretch off the Tucson road, two raiding parties, six or seven Apaches each, flanked us. They'd have cut us off in the open, so we made for the upland trail. Mano and Buck come along just in the nick of time to shoot us out of trouble."

"See, boss, it is as I told you," Pedro interrupted.

Joe continued, "We headed up here to rest the horses and then…."

"And then what? May I ask what in thunder you have been doing for the past twenty-four hours then?" Looking at Buck and Mano, John added, "Why didn't you two ride on down to Chaparral with the buckboard and mules?"

"Well, John, we got our own business to tend to up here. We cain't be runnin' off. We got stock to tend to," Buck explained.

"I see you have," John scanned the corral. "Those twenty or so head should keep you real busy."

"A course they do, Big John. You know'd how much work it takes to run a ranch."

"It takes a lot of work to build corrals, too, don't it?" Sam asked. "Joe, you and Reno been givin' Buck and Mano a hand up here?"

"Just while we were waiting for Pedro to get back with you, Sam," Joe answered.

"Buck, these are my ranch hands," John scowled, his voice loud. "I pay them. You and Mano do not."

"Yeah, John, but…."

"But what? Work is piling up at the Chaparral and you…"

"Now, look here, John. It weren't safe for the boys and your supplies to leave. We purt near got kilt, ever one of us, gettin' 'em here safe n sound And there's somethin' else."

"Oh?" John's face darkened and he straightened his back ramrod stiff. His fist closed tight round the gloves he carried and a muscle twitched near his mouth. Gray brows lowered over flashing eyes.

"Yeah, John. Fact is, your boys was up here all summer usin' that co-rral and it were in terrible shape. You owed us at least the manpower to fix it."

"I would think, Buck, that the fact I loaned you..."

"Wait jus a minute, John. I think we best take this con-ver-sation inside, _right now_ ," Buck insisted, face darkening to match his brother's. "Mano, c'mon."

Mano nodded once. He did not smile. The brothers and brother-in-law marched toward the cabin. Mano paused to allow Buck and John to enter first. Roy's mouth hung open as he watched them.

Flies, thought Joe.

* * *

"Sit down, John," Buck motioned toward a chair at the table near the stove. His brother was in his territory now.

"Coffee, John?" Mano asked, fetching a cup and pouring when Cannon nodded yes.  
Buck sat down across from John. Mano scooted his chair a bit back from the table and edged closer to Buck. He waited.

"Aw right, John. You was about to say out there that the fact you give us the thousand dollars to pay off Jeff Patterson entitles you to tear up our corral and use this place any ol' way you want."

"Buck, that is not what I meant."

"Well, it shore sounded that way."

"That is true, John. You did imply that." Mano spoke, his tone flat.

John sighed.

"And here's somethin' else. That money was a loan and we is going to pay that back. You offered it to us so we wouldn't have to deal with the bank no more."

Yeah, thought John. And to make sure you two could hang on to the place. John needed the water on the Patterson spread for his own stock. He could not afford to let this piece of land out of the family.

"Well, John, I say to you that you have already got more 'n your money's worth just bein' able to use our water and our land. You ain't got no call to object to us askin' Joe and Reno and Roy for a little help with the co-rral. You jes don't."

"All right, Buck. But it looks to me like they've done more than fix one corral."

"That's true, John. No sense us just waitin' around here on you. They helped us build some extra corrals and holding pens, and they helped us round up them mavericks you see out there."

John had calmed down a considerable amount, and Buck knew it.

"Mano an' me, we got a pro-position to make to you."

Mano looked sideways at Buck but said nothing.

"Go on," John said, sighing.

"We know we owe you that money. And we intend to pay. Why don't us and you drive them mavericks down to the Chaparral and mix 'em with your new herd? You fatten 'em up with the others, sell 'em, and that oughta cover least half what we owe you."

Mano nodded.

John paused. "Well…"

"You know, Juano," Mano said. "Our cattle last season did not fetch quite the price it should have when our journey to Kansas City was delayed at Nevermore…"

"That was not my fault!"

"No, nonetheless, it is the truth. Of course if you rather I had left you and my sister in the desert… I could perhaps have made it to the stage alone and on time," Mano tried to stay serious but bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. Even John smiled a little.

"All right, Buck. You drive a hard bargain."

"Look here, John. You is gettin' the better end of the deal. You got our water, our summer graze, our line shack."

"And you live at the Chaparral."

"Yeah, but you don't pay us nothin', leastways not regular," Buck added while Mano nodded.

"Seguro que sí."

"So will you and Mano drive the cattle down to the ranch tomorrow?"

"Uh, John, thing is, we got our own business to tend to here. I really mean that. We got us some mustangs to round up. That's why we needed all them co-rrals."

"Oh, so you want Sam and the boys to drive the herd down, too."

"Well, John, there's plenty of you to do that and watch the pack mules and buckboard too. A-pach won't attack that many."

"It is true, John. You do not need us," Mano affirmed.

John Cannon knew he was licked. Truth be told, he was glad to see Buck and Mano taking this place seriously. He hoped they'd make a go of it, and he had his doubts. He shook his head, rose from the table.

"Well, we're burnin' daylight. Better get the boys going. We'll take your cows, Buck. Be sure you get an accurate count."

"Oh, I have the tally right here, John," Mano said, pulling out a sheet of paper from his pocket.

"I am sure you do."

All the hands except Wind and Roy had edged to the porch after Buck, John, and Mano had gone inside. They stayed quiet to pick up on the conversation within, creeping closer to the door as the voices dropped. When they heard chairs pulled back and footsteps, they scattered like bugs. Wind watched in silence from the corral while Roy kept a nervous eye on Wind and the cattle.

"Oh, one more thing, Brother John," Buck said as he opened the door, almost hitting Pedro scooting backwards. Buck glanced at Pedro, surprised, and spotted Joe, Reno, and Sam milling around close by. "Hmmm. Well, Brother John, we gonna need a little more help with them mustangs. Kin you let Roy, the new fella, stay up here with us, too?

"Roy? I guess so," John replied. Turning to his brother-in-law, he continued in a deep voice, "He's in your custody anyway, isn't he, Mano?"

"Ah…" Mano blinked twice. His eyes grew wide and his mouth clamped shut with irritation. Too late. Joe, Reno, Pedro, and Sam busted out laughing, doubling over. Wind turned calm eyes upon Roy whose brow furrowed. Roy did not know why the hands was laughing but they was laughin' at Mano and he didn't like it.

Mano glared at John, glared at the boys, glared at Buck. His chest moved up and down and his breathing grew louder. He put his hands on his hips and said nothing. Sam slapped him on the back.

"Well, Mano, I feel a whole lot better knowin' that Roy is in your custody," Sam boomed.

The boys tried to contain their laughter but still snickered. Mano's face flushed and his lips tightened, but, annoyed, he still said nothing.

John Cannon chuckled. He had not intended this result but he was enjoying his brother-in-law's discomfort. Most of the time it was the other way around and Mano had the last laugh.

"Uh, Brother John, one more thing."

"Yes, Buck?" John replied, resigned.

"Kin you leave us a horse for Roy? Somebody needs to ride shotgun with Joe in the buckboard anyhow."

"Well…," John opened his mouth to object but before he could finish, Pedro spoke up.

"Oh, he can take mine, Buck. I have ridden a long way." Nor have I slept much, Pedro thought. Ay caramba, walking my horse past Apaches all through the night and riding all morning, only to wait at the rancho all day on the boss and Sam. Then guard duty half of the night. Dios mío.

"Thank you, amigo." Buck grinned at Pedro. "Well, boys, as my brother said, daylight's burnin'."

"Yeah," John Cannon replied, issuing instructions. By mid-afternoon he was waving good-bye as men, mules, and buckboard pulled out, following the herd of mavericks driven by Sam and Wind. John smiled to himself as he rode out. Maybe Buck and Mano would do something with this place after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Lady Luck Chapter Eight: New Friends and Partners**

Once the Chaparral men rode out of sight, Buck put his arm around Mano's shoulders and ushered him into the cabin, calling out, "C'mon Roy, let's have us a nice cup of coffee and relax a while."

Roy hustled over. Mano still hadn't said nothin' and Roy was worried. He listened just inside the cabin door to what Buck was saying to Mano.

"Compadre, they's no need to take it so hard. Boys'll forgit purty soon. You know how things go. You won't be news for long."

"Buck, I know you are trying to make me feel better, but this is the very thing I had not wanted any of them to know," Mano said, leaning against the table with his fists on it, looking downward and shaking his head. "They will not forget this little nugget, amigo mío, and you know it."

He was steamed, Buck could tell, but really it wouldn't make no difference in the long run. They had a few days to round up the horses. They could sell 'em in Tucson, pay off John, and bank what was left. That'd make Mano happier...in time.

"Mano, want I should bring in the supplies?" Roy asked. Mano looked up.

"Hombre, what supplies? We did not have supplies, did we Buck?"

"Not as fer as I know, Mano."

"There's some sacks out here on the porch. Pedro put 'em there when he unloaded his horse." Roy rushed outside and fetched in burlap sacks which they opened.

"Bacon, beans, salt beef, tortillas," Buck observed. "An' sugar!"

"Coffee too...hey compadres, Victoria must have sent us some things to keep us going," Mano sounded pleased.

"Your sister is a angel, Mano, a real angel for sure!" Buck exclaimed.

"Es verdad, hombre!"

"You mean Miz Cannon thought about you being low on stuff and sent all this up here?" Roy's eyebrows rose in wonder.

"Sí, amigo, mi hermanita!" Mano smiled, his voice filled with warmth. Victoria was precious to him and she loved him very much, this he knew. How like her to have thought about their situation sufficiently to have made Pedro bring all these things. An angel indeed, Buck was right. An angel who could scold him like none other, but an angel nevertheless.

Roy busied himself putting away the supplies, then he set the coffee pot to reheat. Mano sighed, flipped a chair around backwards and settled with his chin resting on his arms across the top of the chair back. Buck eased into a seat as well and they sat at the table in silence.

"Oh, come on, Mano, do it really matter? Really?" Buck asked after a minute.

"Sí hombre it does. It really does, but it is said now and cannot be unsaid, so I will have to live with it. So long as they do not get to hear the whole story, they can imagine to their heart's content."

"Well, I won't tell 'em and Roy here won't say nothin', will ya Roy? And John don't know it. Leastways not all of it."

"I won't say anything, Mano. I already promised and I mean it. You're my friend now, like Honch, only I think you're way better than him, so I won't say a word."

Mano smiled at Roy, nodded, rose, and clapped him on the shoulder. Buck just sat grinning at them both though he had no idea what he was smiling at. Things would be jest fine, he knew they would.

Mano chopped some salt beef and fixed a kind of bean stew that tasted real good to Roy. And they sat and jawed about how they was gonna git the mustangs in the morning. Then it got dark and time for sleep. Roy was tucked up in his bedroll snorin' before he knew it.

Buck was hoping to hear Mano snoring soon, too, but it was at least an hour before Mano's breathing got heavier and Buck could tell he was asleep. Buck was still worried about his friend. Mano'd had amigos who turned on him before...El Lobo, Miguel Morales, even that cousin Romero. Buck didn't like to think of Romero. Melanie Cawthorn fooled 'em all…'cept Mano. That low down skunk Redmond. Sumpin about this one made it worse. Mebbe cuz Mano ain't seen it comin'. That hearing with the judge cain't have been no picnic neither, even if the judge cleared him of all charges. At least Mano wasn't playing that whangy guitar… Buck dropped off.

Mano did not fall asleep at once, although he was very tired. Truth was, Redmond's betrayal bothered him more than he wished to admit even to himself. How had he, Manolo Montoya, fallen for the set up? Was he getting soft, old? Ay yi yi. And now he had this responsibility, Roy. Responsibility, the one thing he wished to avoid more than anything. Well, it could be worse. He could be mucking stables for John Cannon or listening to his father lecture him or putting up with Sam or Joe's comments made at his expense. Pedro would shut up...but those Butlers...he drifted off at last.

* * *

Roy woke to the smell of bacon. Man, he loved this new life. He was eatin' better than he ever had and these people seemed to like him. Mr. Cannon kinda made him jumpy but he seemed like a good boss.

Buck walked in from outside. "Hey Roy, you're awake! You sure can sleep." Buck laughed.

Roy, sheepish, managed a small smile.

"I'm just funnin' Roy. I don't mean nothin'. You're a fine boy, real fine!"

That made Roy feel better, but the truth was he hadn't felt safe enough to sleep deep for a long time and this new life was real, real good.

Mano burst through the door, hauling a fresh bucket of water. He strode to the coffee pot with purpose, filling it and swinging it onto the cooking fire before he spoke in a tone edged with sarcasm.

"Whilst I am happy that we have the coffee, compadres, occasionally I would like to be the one enjoying a cup without having had to fill the pot and brew it myself!" He waved one hand in the air to punctuate the point and Buck and Roy gaped in amazement. Sometimes Mano's Latino temper could just blow through a room like a tornado and you could only watch its progress or take cover.

"Well, has no one anything to say?" Mano demanded.

"Whew. Mano, ain't nothin' we can say," Buck hooted.

"Er, Mano?" Roy ventured.

"Sí?"

"Is that bacon burning?"

"Ay chihuahua!" Mano gripped the iron skillet with his left hand, then let go, grabbing his hand and letting fly a stream of Spanish that neither Buck nor Roy understood. He plunged his burnt hand in the bucket of water he'd just carried in and snatched a cloth off the shelf. Using the cloth as protection, he yanked the skillet from the fire and spun round to shoot an angry glare at the other two who were choking back their laughter. He blinked, looked down at the skillet and back at Buck and Roy with large, round eyes. Then he started to laugh, a very small laugh at first. He dropped the smoking skillet onto the table with a bang. His laughter grew in intensity till he bent over double in mirth, grasping the back of a chair for support. Roy and Buck, tickled, roared just as loud. It was a few minutes before the sounds of men laughing died away and Mano shook his head. Ay, Manolo. It has come to this, has it? And he laughed again, collapsing into a chair when he could laugh no more.

"Mano," Buck said, still chuckling. "It ain't that we can't make coffee. It's just that you are so darn picky about your coffee that we don' wanna try. How's your hand?"

"Ah, I will live," he sighed, blowing on his reddened fingers and palm.

"What can I do, Mano?" Roy asked.

"Well, for a start, take that and refill it with fresh water from the well," Mano replied, indicating the bucket.

"Sure thing!" Roy jumped up and shot out the door, bucket in hand.

"He a good kid, Mano," Buck said, watching Roy. "Nice to have a young fella round here agin."

"Sí. You are perhaps thinking of Blue, eh?"

"Ever' day. Ever' blessed day."

"Eh, compadre, Blue will be back when he has finished his education."

"I know'd it. He hadda go to that art school. I know'd it. Shore would be nice if John would talk about it. Mention Blue's name, he clams up, walks off ramrod stiff. My brother is a stubborn man."

"Blue will return, amigo. A man raised on a ranch cannot last in a city."

"Lessen he marries a city gal."

"Even then, he will be back."

Buck nodded. "I hope you're right, Mano."

Roy barrelled inside just then, water sloshing out the top of the bucket he hauled.

"Show me what to do, Mano. I'll make coffee next time."

"Better you than Buck. I have showed him. It does no good."

"I don't mind cookin' none either, if you tell me what to do," Roy continued.

Mano nodded. "Claro. Well perhaps we shall have a cooking lesson later. For now, burnt bacon and tortillas will have to do. Ay yi yi, this skillet, it is ruined."

"No it ain't, Mano. I ac-shully know how to clean that," Buck spoke up. "Mama always had cast iron. Lemme at it, after we eat." Buck paused, then mused, "Makes you appreciate your sister a little more, don't it?"

"Sí, but even Victoria has help. Violeta and her daughter come on washday you know. Of course it is nothing compared to the housemaids and servants at the Rancho Montoya. I would have never imagined my sister to be content with such a life as she now has."

"You neither, fer that matter," Buck observed.

"Me neither," Mano agreed, glancing at Roy, shaking his head and giving a wry grin. "Shall we eat, compadres?"

"Yep, we got us some work to do," Buck said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Lady Luck Chapter Nine: Mustang Roundup**

The morning sun warmed them as Mano, Buck, and Roy saddled up and rode out, leaving their new and now empty corrals for the high country where Buck had last seen the mustangs. It only took a couple of hours to track down the horses, but with just three men to drive thirty young and wild horses back to the ranch, they were stumped.

"Buck, that little box canyon we used last time is up here, no?"

"Yeah, Mano, that's right! We could drive 'em into that - but then whut?"

"Yes, what would we do to get them back to the rancho? Hmm, we need to consider carefully how we will do this."

"Mano, I got an idea," Roy said.

"Yes, Roy?"

"Well, if we can close off this canyon so they're penned up pretty good and cain't run out, and one of us can keep 'em closed in, we could get 'em all back to the ranch easy in two days."

"Huh? How you figger that Roy?" Buck asked, frowning.

"Well, there's no water up here, is there?" Roy asked.

"Nope, nary a drop," Buck affirmed.

"If we can keep them penned up for two days and nights, they'll be real thirsty, won't they?"

"Seguro que sí! But so will we, hombre."

"Not if we take turns. If we get something to close off the canyon, make like a gate so they're in a kind of corral and we each take a turn watching them, we could bring plenty of water for ourselves and just make sure they don't manage to get out," Roy explained.

"Okay, I kin see we could do that, but then whut? As soon as we would open the gate they'd be off running like crazy fer the nearest water," Buck mused.

"Not if we was the nearest water," said Roy.

"HUH?!" Buck's forehead crinkled.

"Well, if we bring a lot of canteens, and some of the old oilcloth tarp, we could make some sorta water troughs. We let 'em out slow, one or two at a time and let them get a little drink and then take the water away from 'em. Once they get the idea that we've got water, they'll follow us and if we stop every so often and let them have a little bit and keep leading 'em down, we'll get all of them without a whole lotta effort except for the waitin' part."

"Roy, bueno! I have heard of this from the Apache," Mano exclaimed. "It is an old trick, but it could work. If we flank them as one of us leads them down, we should be able to stop any from straying. Since they are young, they will naturally want to band together. Roy, you are going to be so much help, hombre!"

Mano's white teeth gleamed. Deep dimples framed his smile. He clapped Roy on the back. Roy shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed. He wasn't used to getting praise for thinking.

Buck could not believe this crazy idea was what they were set on doing, but if Mano said the A-patch done it, that was good enough, cause the A-patch knew horses.

* * *

They returned to the ranch, collected fence wire, leftover planks, and as many containers for water that they could find, fill, and carry—including five canteens and two old stone jars. They wound rope around the lips of the jars to secure them to their saddles. They cut the waxed oilcloth tarp into sections and folded these. They brought sturdy mesquite sticks to use to construct small tripods, planning to secure sections of tarp to these to form waterproof cloth buckets. They would be tight enough when filled with water, the tarp pieces a bit like kerchiefs secured at the end. Good thing the equipment wasn't too difficult to carry or manage, thought Buck, or else this job'd be over before it started.

Once near the canyon they scouted the best way to drive the herd and found a place that could be easily blocked with the planks crossed to make their gate.

"Roy, you get up there behind them horses an' don't cause a ruckus. Just gentle 'em down towards the canyon. Try not to let 'em break into a full run," Buck instructed. Roy nodded and rode around back of the herd.

Buck and Mano readied the gate and Mano let loose a piercing whistle.

"H-yaw!" Roy exclaimed from the rear of the herd, edging them into a trot which soon became a gallop through the arroyo straight into canyon and into the trap neatly set for them. It was the work of a moment to secure the gate. Mano, Buck, and Roy stood exhausted. Now all they had to do was wait out the thirsty horses.

"I'll take the first coupla hours watch," Buck volunteered. "Y'all rest up and one of you can spell me later." And so it was.

Mano and Roy lay on their bedrolls in the shade of an overhanging rock. In a few hours, Mano spelled Buck, and later Roy spelled Mano. It was tiresome work. Their saddle horses were tied up, bareback, under another convenient overhang. Roy made sure their own mounts got a few mouthfuls of water every so often. Neither man nor beast enjoyed this waiting game, but the mustangs were indeed thirsty by the end of two days.

The men saddled their own horses and led them to the gate.

"Aw right boys," Buck said. "Time to see how much these fellas wanna drink."

"Mano," said Roy, handing him a makeshift bucket filled with water, "if you hold this bucket and stay very still, here next to Macadoo, the boldest horses oughta come right out to you." Roy gave Buck a second bucket and kept another for himself. "Now, Buck, please just keep openin' that gate a bit more so that they can form a long line. Once they's about all through, bring Rebel and the water an' you can give 'em some, too."

"Aw right, Roy boy," Buck nodded.

Buck opened the gate a fraction, allowing the horses to move through one at a time. The first and boldest mustangs drank from the water held by Roy and Mano, following the men a short distance. When most of the herd had a swallow, Roy and Mano mounted their own horses. Buck came alongside to give water to the stragglers, those last out of the gate. Then Buck, too, mounted up.

"Chihuahua, this may be working, amigos," Mano said in a soft voice, more to himself than to the others.

The refilling of the water buckets from their canteens was an awkward task, but every few minutes the men did this, dismounting, letting the herd drink, remounting. On horseback or afoot, Roy stayed in the lead and Mano and Buck did double duty: not only offering the horses water but also coaxing any strays back into the main herd. Once the horses realized they could have more water if they followed the saddled horses, the journey to the ranch speeded up till the group crested the rise overlooking the C-Bar-M.

"I'll head on down an' open the gate an' set there so they cain't go nowhere but into the corral," Roy called to Buck and Mano. "They oughta head straight to the trough in there to drink." And so they did.

Buck had built a couple of extra troughs, and earlier the men had dragged these into the other corrals, which helped them split up the herd a little as they coaxed some into the outer pens.

"Best thing for 'em now is to let 'em drink an' cool down," Buck said. "Us too. We kin finish sortin' 'em out later. Sun's about goin' down." The horses were chewing the last few handfuls of hay thrown down for them as the men turned to the cabin.

* * *

Mano paused, glanced at the lake and down at his shirt, the rich gold cloth barely discernable through the mud, dirt, and sweat.. He stripped off the shirt as he walked to the edge of the lake where he placed it in the water, allowing it to soak before wringing it out.

"Well, hombre, it is not clean, but it is at least less dirty," he said to himself. Roy looked on and copied him. Buck rolled his eyes and turned toward the cabin, toward which all three dragged their tired bodies.

Mano stopped to draw water from the well. Inside the cabin, he poured the water into a large cast iron pot, hanging this on a hook over the stove fire which Roy had rushed in to light. Mano then retrieved a small towel, a bar of lye soap, and a straight edged razor from his bedroll. Once the water was heated, he poured some in an old bowl, carrying this outside to a small table on the porch. He splashed his face, using the soap to work up a thin lather. Then he scraped his face clean of whiskers with the razor and toweled off. Roy watched.

Hmm, thought Roy. If it's good enough for Mano, it's good enough for me. Roy slung out the dirty water, refilled the bowl from the pot, and cleaned up as well, using the towel Joe had given him.

"Ya ain't got many whiskers there, Roy boy," Buck observed as Roy used a knife to make quick work of a shave. Buck, who preferred to bathe by dunking himself in a trough or the lake, hemmed and hawed, muttering under his breath. But after Roy had finished, Buck, too, washed up and shaved in much the same manner although he did not wash his shirt.

With two shirts draped over a makeshift clothesline waving in the evening breeze, three somewhat cleaner vaqueros sat down to enjoy a cup of coffee, which Roy had made, and some spicy beef and bean stew that Mano had warmed on the stove.

Satisfied, they headed straight to bed. It had been a grueling few days, but with thirty head of young horses in the corral, Mano felt content. Sleep claimed him still smiling at the thought of all the money they would make in Tucson...and the other pleasant diversions they might find there.


	10. Chapter 10

**Lady Luck Chapter Ten: The Horse Whisperer**

The next morning, Roy awoke first. He tiptoed outside to fetch fresh water and then set the coffee pot brewing. With Mano's sharp filleting knife, he sliced several strips of bacon without skinning his hand or losing any fingers. He placed the bacon in the skillet, which Buck had cleaned with boiling water the night before. Not wishing to wake the others, Roy waited to cook the bacon. He placed plates, cups, and sugar jar on the table, so lost in his thoughts that he was surprised when a hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and looked straight at Mano.

"Oh mornin' Mano," Roy stammered.

"Buenos días, Roy! You've been busy this morning, no?"

"Oh this ain't nothin'. I just figgered to get stuff ready for you."

"It is much appreciated, compadre, really. Now let me fry the bacon and warm these tortillas my sister has so thoughtfully provided, and we will have a good breakfast before we begin our work with the horses."

"Hey, that coffee I smell?" Buck mumbled from bed, scratching his underarm through faded pink long johns.

"Ah, Buck, you have awakened. Bueno. But clothing is required for work."

"Huh?"

"Get dressed, amigo, we have work to do—today, hombre!"

"Mano, I thought you said we didn't have to get up at five if we wuz up here at _our_ ranch? Aw right. I'm gittin' dressed, okay? I'm gittin' dressed!"

Buck groaned and stumbled to the back of the bedroom area where he pulled on black pants, black shirt, and boots. He sat down at the table just as Mano served up bacon and tortillas, this time unburnt. Buck wasn't picky. Food was food and Buck liked food.

After breakfast was eaten and the cabin restored to order, something Mano demanded, the three vaqueros walked outside to survey their horses.

"Look like twenty in the main corral, four in the next, four after that, two out yonder," Buck announced. "Mares an' colts, all young. Look like twelve mares, eight colts, all yearlin's, right here in front of us."

"The two in the corral Mano and me made look mebbe to be three year old colts," Roy said.

"Sí, and four mares there," Mano said, pointing at the corral next to the one holding the colts. "And four younger mares here, perhaps two year olds, no?" He said, indicating the remaining corral.

"We got choices to make," Roy observed. "Saddle break 'em and sell 'em. Halter break 'em, gentle 'em and sell 'em. Or just drive 'em down to Tucson as they are."

Buck looked puzzled. Mano did not.

"How much would we get for horses that were gentle, broken to halter, and accustomed to people?" Mano asked.

"At least $30 a head, mebbe $40 if they might make breeding stock," Buck ventured.

"Sí, estoy de acuerdo."

"What's that mean, Mano?" Roy asked.

"Oh, sorry, Roy, it means I agree with Buck. We would make more money with gentle horses than we would make with green horses. Green young horses will probably only bring, oh, $20 a head."

"They's all young so they's quite easy to gentle." Roy spoke softly but without hesitation.

"Oh sure, amigo, and how would we do that?"

"Start with the two colts down in the small corral, 'cause they are probably the herd leaders. They were the ones that took the water first."

"Hey Roy, you're right!" Buck exclaimed "It wuz them two took the first water."

"Roy, what would you do?" Mano tilted his chin up and looked down at Roy, interested.

"Mano, I'd walk in there quiet and let them come to me, give 'em a sweet treat, molasses or sugar, and then just touch 'em gentle like. Couple times like that and then you could get a halter on 'em."

"All right then Roy, you do this thing, hombre. We are in your hands."

"Huh?" Buck wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"Buck, just let Roy try this, and we will watch and see if we can learn his secrets, sí?"

"Okay, Mano, if you say so." Buck sounded unconvinced but if Mano thought this would work, heck, it would be worth it.

"Sí compadre, let him try. I remember that Ruíz, my father's stable master, employed similar methods."

Roy made for the cabin.

* * *

We only got sugar, Roy thought. Well, it'll have to do. He poured some in a handkerchief which he tied with a single knot and slipped into his pants pocket. He walked out to the porch, chewing on his bottom lip. He shot Mano and Buck a quick look, then headed to the main corral. Aw right, Roy, jes' keep it nice an' easy, he told himself. He opened and closed the corral gate behind him without a sound. Gotta step light, Roy thought, keep close to the rail. The horses turned to watch him with interest, but none moved since he did not approach them and instead edged to the gate in the corner. Roy removed the looped rope, tiptoed through the corner gate, replaced the rope and, ignoring the mares within, padded softly through the corral to the next gate. He repeated the process until he reached the small corral at the end.

Once Roy eased through the last gate, he secured the rope loop with additional care so that the colts could not run out. That'll keep you boys in here, Roy thought. He walked in silence to the middle of the corral and turned his back to the horses.

"He shore move quiet an' slow, don't he, Mano?" Buck whispered, watching motionless from the cabin porch.

"Seguro que sí."

In the center of the corral, Roy squatted and pulled the kerchief from his pocket, unwrapping it and staring at it as if it were full of diamonds and not sugar. He remained motionless and quiet. The colts grew interested in what he was doing. They approached him, but Roy gave no sign that he saw them. Buck and Mano stared in silence. Yeah, you want this, boys, don't ya? Roy thought. You ain't gettin' it yet.

When the colts came up behind Roy, he turned away from them. They approached again, and again he turned away. The third time he let one of the colts push his nose down over his shoulder, but he moved his hand away to keep the sugar out of reach. By then the second colt was nosing in from the other side. Roy stood up and moved away from the horses. As they followed him, he turned his profile to them. They could see his face and he could watch them from the corner of his eye, without looking at them straight on. Both colts snorted, but they were bold and remembered that he had possessed the water.

The bolder of the two, a bright red bay with black mane, tail, and points, sidled up to Roy, nudging his nose towards the kerchief. The colt appraised Roy. This human will do, he thought. Sweet, something smells sweet. Yeah, boy, thought Roy. You know what I got. This time, Roy let the horse lick some of the sugar, but not all of it. The colt licked his lips: sweet, sweet. While the colt licked sugar, Roy laid his open hand on the horse's neck, sliding his hand up toward the ears, touching just behind them. The bay colt twitched a little, but otherwise let the human touch his neck.

The other colt, a jet black horse, slighter of build with a white diamond on his forehead, stuck his nose down and was also rewarded with some of the sugar. In the same way, Roy reached for this horse's neck and ears. The black colt twitched once and his eyes showed white, so Roy removed his hand. Time enough fer this. Better take things slow, he said to himself.

Mano turned to Buck, nodded his head, smiled, and whispered, "Hey, hombre. Mira."

Then Roy put his somewhat damp and now empty kerchief back in his pocket and started to walk away from the horses. They snorted again and ambled after him. He stopped and they stopped. He walked and they matched him pace for pace. He turned toward them and they regarded him without fear. When he stretched out his empty hands they came over to sniff and see if there was more sugar, licking his palms to get the dregs. The bay colt, bolder, put his nose into Roy's hands. This human was soft and had good, sweet, sweet things.

"He is playing a game," Mano told Buck in a low voice. "Getting them to follow."

"He shore is, amigo," Buck rasped back.

And so he was. Roy walked toward and turned away from the horses, till the horses remained beside him all the time. When he walked toward the gate and opened it, they followed him through. They followed him through the other gates into the main corral and right to the outer gate. Here he turned around, petted their noses and necks, and unlatched the gate just enough so that he could squeeze out, closing it behind him.

The two colts stood looking at Roy's retreating figure as he walked towards the cabin. The bay colt stuck his head above the fence. He wanted to follow the human with the sweet hands, the gentle human.

"Whoa Roy, that was amazin'!" Buck exclaimed in genuine admiration.

"Es verdad!" Mano said with a grin. "You really did have those horses eating out of your hand." He laughed at his own joke. "What is next, hombre?"

"The best thing now is to take some simple rope halters and get the horses used to the smell and feel of them. That should only take a little while, but the mares will be harder, because they are naturally more suspicious and more timid than the colts."

"Can we help, compadre?"

"Do you think you can do what I was doing with the sugar?" he asked, looking at both of them.

"Shore, Roy, shore!" Buck smiled broadly. "I kin do that. Which ones first?"

"Better to start with the older horses, cuz they're usually less afraid." Roy felt funny telling these men what to do, but they was askin'.

"Muy bien. Let's get some sugar in our kerchiefs and get to work. Remember, we need to have these horses broken to the halter, not necessarily to the saddle...gentle enough that they can be worked by whoever buys them. That way they will fetch the highest price."

"Yup, Mano, they shore will!" Buck chuckled as they went into the cabin in search of sugar.

The work of gaining the trust of the young horses went on until the sun got high and hot.

Buck wiped sweat from his brow with a shirtsleeve, removing his hat and shaking it, spraying small drops on the ground. "I done had it for now, boys. Let's take us a rest." Buck grimaced as he looked at his hands, sticky with sugar. He took a quick lick which no one saw, then headed to the lake to rinse his hands. The others followed him to the water.

"Siesta entonces!" Mano agreed. "Let us take a nap while the sun beats down and then we can begin afresh once the shadows have lengthened."

Since this was the most sensible way of working and allowed the men to use water as enticement for the horses in the afternoon, Buck, Mano, and Roy followed this pattern for days. The horses soon began to realize that none of the men would hurt them, that they always brought something good to eat or drink, and that the ropes were only odd and funny smelling, but didn't hurt.

Roy showed the other two his little trick of stretching his hand up the necks of the horses and scratching just behind their ears. He also pointed out that it was best if the men did not make eye contact unless they wanted the horses to turn away from them. He demonstrated the body language that the horses understood and explained that it was a language they used among themselves.

* * *

Seven days passed.

"Roy, you are one clever hombre!" Buck clapped him on the back as the three friends walked back into the cabin late one afternoon. The horses had become pleased to see them when they went outside in the mornings, especially the bay colt that nickered when Roy came out and stuck his head over the fence when Roy went into the cabin. The men fed and watered the mustangs, gaining their trust and getting them used to a routine at the same time. Their herd was going to make big bucks in Tucson, Buck reckoned.

"Roy, if you will fix the coffee, I will prepare a stew, and Buck, if you would, could you peel some potatoes, please?" Mano asked once they were inside.

"Mano, I hate peeling taters." Buck complained.

"But you like to eat them, amigo, no?"

"I don't mind doing it, Mano." Roy chimed in.

"No, Roy, I want to show you what ingredients go into the stew, so that you can prepare it another night."

"Sure thing!" Roy's smile was wide and warm. He was happy with the way Mano trusted him to do so many things. Mano was a better friend than Honch had ever been.

"Aw right, I do it," muttered Buck as he fetched the bucket and knife, pulled the potatoes out of the sack, and sat down to peel and wash them. Big ranch owner, hidalgo, peeling taters. But Mano was right, he purely loved eatin' 'em.

Like the horses, the men had fallen into their routine, too, enjoying the regularity of eating and drinking. The cabin was tidy, the beds made each day. Roy had stuffed straw inside an ancient mattress Mano had scrounged. Laid upon two old crates as a base, it made a comfortable pallet. Blankets and pillows they had so no one slept without cover. Roy made the coffee every morning and cut the bacon for Mano to fry. Buck tossed tin plates and forks on the table. They discussed plans for the day at breakfast.

"You know, even when Ma and Pa was alive, we never all set around talkin' 'bout what we wuz gonna do. An' Honch come along an' he just told me what to do," Roy said one morning. "I ain't never lived this way. I kinda like it." Buck, mouth full of tortilla and bacon, gave him a wink. Mano smiled.

Mano found Roy an excellent help around the cabin and his knowledge of the ways of horses surpassed both his and Buck's. Perhaps having Roy in my custody is not such a bad thing, Mano reflected. It occurred to him that Roy's talents might be put to good use many places. The Rancho Montoya perhaps? There was a great wild horse herd that Papá had intended to round up one day. That day had not yet come. If he took Roy into Sonora he could certainly find an outlet for his talents, and a profitable one at that. Buck would have to go, of course. And John would have to allow this. Mano did not wish to return permanently to the Rancho Montoya. The venture would require tact and diplomacy. He smiled as he thought of Papá who so often uttered those words.


	11. Chapter 11

**Lady Luck Chapter Eleven: Return to Paradise**

At breakfast the next day, Buck suggested a trip to Tucson. "We need supplies and I reckon if we git some lumber we could fix up that tack shed and keep the tarp for sumpin useful."

"Hombre, you are right, a trip to Tucson would be most beneficial and, cómo se dice, necessary!" Mano grinned, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't think we need to go that fer, Mano, just as fer as the mercantile and the livery stable and maybe that old carpenter's shop."

"Oh, the undertaker, er, I mean cabinet maker." Mano corrected himself. "A good idea compadre, a good idea. Roy, do you think some of our horses would be ready for sale? Could we drive a few in to town now?"

"Shore Mano, they's the four two year old mares, about four filly yearlings and a coupla colts that are gentle enough, I think."

"Well then Roy, we shall drive ten horses into Tucson and sell them. The money can be used for supplies and we can pay back some of what we owe to Big John, which will give me great pleasure." The satisfaction on Mano's face was plain to see.

"Me too, Mano, amigo, I'd purely love ol' John to see we done paid off another big chunk of his loan." Buck chuckled.

"Sí. muchachos, let us first see what we can do with the remaining horses so that they neither escape nor are stolen."

They moved the fourteen yearlings to the second pen, from which they had removed the four mares. No horses remained in the main corral; fourteen milled about in the second, four in the next corral and two in the smallest corral. They secured each gate with the ropes and added crossbars for additional security. They made sure each pen had a trough of water and some hay, just enough to keep the horses going for a day or so.

"Mano we'd better git goin' and come back quick, cuz I don't reckon them comancheros will pass up this gift, do you?"

"No, amigo, you are right, the sooner we are gone, the sooner we will get back. Andale, vamonos!"

* * *

Roy led the horses while Mano and Buck drove the herd from behind, coaxing any strays back into the main group. The drive was easy, since the horses all thought Roy was their mejor amigo and followed him with little urging. Men and horses reached Tucson in record time. The sun straight overhead indicated noon when they rode into the yard of the livery stable.

Mitch saw them coming and stared. How'd Mano, Buck an' that kid he'd seen with the Chaparral crew manage to get this good lookin' bunch of horses to Tucson by themselves? He spat tobacco juice and broke off another chaw before walking out to greet his customers. Horses seemed downright tame, he thought, even though they was young. Went right into the holding corral, too, no trouble at all. Mitch prepared to dicker.

"Hey there, Mitch," Buck called. "We got some mustangs for sale here. You wanna buy 'em, or do we got to look fer a buyer?" The three dismounted, with Mano and Roy hanging back just a little.

"Well now, Buck, I might be interested if the price is right."

"What you figger these young 'uns is worth then, Mitch?"

"Oh 'bout $15 a head, I'd say."

"Then I'd say bye, cuz you shore ain't gettin' 'em that cheap!"

"How much you want for 'em then?" Mitch asked. He could tell by how docile the horses were that somebody had worked on them to get them halter broken and calm.

"I tell you, Mitch, we're robbin' ourselves here, but I reckon as how we can let you have 'em for $35 a head."

"You gotta be joking! $35 a head?" Mitch boomed. Little too loud, Buck noticed. Mitch was gettin' excited. He had already figured he could get $40, maybe $45 a head, if they could be bred as well as ridden.

"Take it or leave it, Mitch, cuz there's probably other folk in town who'd give us more'n that." Buck said, deadpan, casual, seeming uninterested.

"Okay, Buck. It's a deal: $35 a head." Mitch had agreed pretty quick, Buck thought. Mano raised an eyebrow and looked at Buck who nodded and winked in agreement.

"Did I say that's jest fer the four fillies, Mitch? It's $40 a head for the two colts, and $50 a head for the four mares. They's around two years old, ya see, and worth more, cuz they can breed."

"That's over 400 dollars, Buck!" Mitch sputtered, about swallowing his chaw. His face purpled and he spat a stream of brown juice.

"Mitch, that is exactly 420 dollars and we will take it in cash, ahora mismo. Right now, hombre!" Mano demanded. As he spoke, his eyes narrowed to a steely squint that gave nothing away.

Mitch spat, worked his mouth a bit and sighed.

"All right. It's a deal. I'll just fetch the cash." He ambled toward his office. Buck waited till Mitch was inside and out of earshot.

"Mano, we done it! We purely done it!" Buck was tickled again.

"Sí, hombre, we 'done' it."

"What are we gonna do once we get all that cash, Mano?" Roy asked with a wide-eyed innocence that amused Mano. He laughed.

"Ah, Roy, the town of Tucson holds many delights and we shall see what we shall see." Mano put his arm around Roy's shoulder and led him away from the livery stables back toward the main part of town, or "Paradise" as Buck liked to call it.

Buck waited for Mitch to count out the bank notes. He folded the cash and placed it in his inside vest pocket. The two shook hands and Buck jogged toward his friends after telling Mitch to give their horses water, a grain feed, and a rub down, tossing him a silver dollar as he headed out. Mitch caught the dollar, spat, and moved on to see what he'd bought.

"Mano" Buck called out as he caught up to them.

"Sí," Mano smiled broadly "What is it, compadre?"

"I think I oughta take some of this money and head to the bank."

"Está bien."

"I'll go there right now an' meet ya later. You know'd where."

"Sí, amigo, hasta luego!"

Buck turned on his heels and headed for the bank. Mano and Roy walked to Wiley's.

"When we get there, Roy, I would like you to …."

"I know, Mano, keep quiet and say nothin'," Roy interrupted.

Mano laughed and clapped him on the shoulder "Sí, amigo, sí, perfecto!"

Wiley sighed as Mano entered with Roy. These guys were worse than Joe Butler. But since they were customers, Wiley tried to look as though he wanted them there.

"Hello Manolito, what can I do fer you this fine day?"

Mano was not taken in, but he smiled and took out a list from his inside jacket pocket. "Please fill this Señor Wiley, and have everything ready first thing in the morning, as we will be leaving early."

"Sure thing. No problem." Wiley scanned the list. "I got all this in stock so it'll be ready for you to pick up tomorrow. What time?"

"Six I think, sí, six o'clock would be best. Is it convenient for you, Señor Wiley?"

"Oh sure, no trouble at all!" Wiley smiled outside, but cursed inside. These ranchers always wanted to leave town before the sun had showed its face. If they weren't such good customers, he'd be tempted to tell 'em it wasn't convenient, but he couldn't afford to turn 'em away.

"Muy bien. Hasta mañana!" Mano tipped his hat in farewell.

They walked on and Roy said, "Where we going now, Mano?"

"We are going to the saloon, Roy, because I suspect Buck will want to have a drink or two before we leave town." His smile was wide and knowing. Buck would never miss visiting the saloon.

El Toro Loco was not crowded, and there were a couple of tables free in the back. "Roy, why do you not go and sit over there and I will bring the drinks?" Mano gestured to a table in the corner.

Roy nodded and did so. Mano ordered a bottle and three glasses. He carried them to the table and sat in the chair facing the door so he could see Buck when he walked in, which did not take long. Buck spotted them and came straight over.

"Here Mano, this here's the receipt for what we paid John. I put $200 into his account, like we agreed."

"Excelente, hombre! If we assume that the cattle will fetch $400, which is not unreasonable, then we only owe John another $400 in total. We still have twenty horses left to sell and we should make much more than that."

Buck chortled and rubbed his hands. "We got $220 right here." He patted his shirt pocket and Mano frowned. "Don't worry, amigo, I know we got stuff to buy an' all," Buck added.

Mano did not look reassured. He had paid for the bottle with his own coin and was now worried that their profits would disappear if left in Buck's pocket. "Maybe I should go and arrange for the purchase of a buckboard and team?"

"No need, amigo, I done that aw ready" Buck laughed again. "Don't worry so much. I know we gotta pay Wiley, too. Plus I done ordered the lumber we talked about so that's all done, too."

"How much, Buck?" Mano enquired.

"How much what?"

"How much do we need to pay for these things, hombre?"

"Oh right, er, $20 fer the wood, $30 for the team and second-hand buckboard; I did a deal for them, and then I guess about $50 at the mercantile."

"That is $100 then out of our $220. I have an idea about that remaining money, Buck, and I hope you will agree with me. I think that we need to pay Roy for his work, do you not agree?"

"You bet I do."

"Well, how does this sound to you? Fifty dollars apiece for yourself and for me and $20 for Roy."

"Twenty dollars for me? For my work? What work?" Roy asked, puzzled.

"Roy, you are quite brilliant with horses and I think we need to reward that work. You can put the money in your pocket or you can open a bank account, because I believe we may well have more work for you in the future," Mano explained.

"Really?" Roy's smile almost split his face. He felt like he'd won top prize in the turkey shoot. Then his face turned solemn. "I think I'd like to open a bank account," he said with a very serious expression.

Mano couldn't help smiling, but checked his laugh. It would be cruel to laugh at Roy who was just learning to be an upright citizen instead of a stage robber.

"Bueno, Roy, and I think perhaps that is what we all need to do," Mano said looking straight at Buck, whose face fell.

"Aw Mano, I wanted to have me some fun."

"Not tonight Buck. I think we need to collect everything now and leave town tonight."

"Whut?" Buck's eyebrows reached his hat brim. "Why?"

"It occurs to me that the comancheros may have seen us leave and, thanks to Roy, we have some very valuable stock still in our corrals, no?"

"Oh Mano!" but Buck could see the sense in his friend's counsel. They swallowed their drinks, but Buck kept the bottle.

Roy choked a little at the burning sensation the tequila made going down. He wasn't used to this drinking. He would have to learn, he guessed, now that he was a businessman. His whole body smiled as they walked out the door.

They stopped by the bank and deposited their profits in the C-Bar-M account, opening an account for Roy at the same time. Then they collected their new buckboard and team, tying Pedro's and Buck's horses to the back, since Buck and Roy would be driving. They surprised Wiley, who had just stacked their order when Buck strode in.

"Hey Wiley. Can you add two bottles of red-eye for medicinal purposes? An' a bottle o' mescal for my compadre, S'nor Montoya."

"Yeah, Buck, sure will."

"Here's $50, Wiley. That cover everything?"

"Er, sure Buck, sure." Since it was cash Wiley wasn't too bothered if he lost a dollar or two on the whiskey. He was just glad he was being paid. Too many ranchers came in and ordered stuff all year long before paying anything. He took the money and started carrying the order outside.

Mano tossed Roy a few coins with instructions to run over to Rosa's to ask her to wrap up tortillas filled with beans and meat for them. They would satisfy their hunger before starting out for the ranch. They ate while Wiley finished loading.

The next stop was the carpenter's shop, where they loaded the lumber before heading out of Tucson on the road back to the C-Bar-M. It was a dark night, not much of a moon and a lot of cloud cover, which suited the friends and partners. The comancheros would need at least the glimmer of a moon to risk raiding their ranch.

* * *

Buck drove the team at a good pace, but he was careful, because they needed to get there in one piece and holes in the road were less easily seen after sundown. Mano rode scout, just as careful. He rode back toward the buckboard at a good lope before slowing to draw alongside.

"Buck, at this rate we will reach the ranch just as it is becoming light."

"I know Mano, but I can't go any faster or we could kill these horses or have a axe-y-dent."

Mano smiled at his friend's expression, but he was worried. He had a feeling something was wrong and such feelings had saved his life on many occasions. He would not ignore them. He rode ahead to scout with renewed dedication.

Just as the buckboard neared the rise overlooking the ranch, Mano raised a hand, motioning for them to stop. They strained to see him in the pre-dawn gloom. He rode back.

"Buck, there are men and horses up around the back of the cabin, say 100 feet away. They are not doing anything, probably waiting for daylight, which will arrive at any moment."

"What we gonna do, Mano?"

"I will go around back and see how many there are and where their horses are tied. If I can loosen the horses and lead them away, our good friends will be on foot, again!"

"Ha, Mano you are always settin' them afoot, ain't you?" Buck said with a muffled chuckle.

"Mano, could I come with you, cuz I think I could get the horses loose without lettin' anyone know. It's what I used to do with Honch."

"Come on then Roy. Let us go and release some poor horses from their captivity."

Buck started the team out at a slow, careful pace. He was safe for a little while, but it wouldn't be long before the comancheros spotted him or heard the rattle of the buckboard.

Mano and Roy had ridden in a wide arc and then slowed to approach the spot where Mano believed the banditos were hiding. They found the horses in a little hollow. Roy approached the animals as he had the mustangs. The horses allowed him to come close. He undid their tethers. With scarcely a snort, the horses followed him as he led them down the hill a little further. Then he waved his arms and ran toward them to make them gallop off. He hurried back to Mano, who held his horse. The pair caught up with the buckboard just as Buck was cresting the rise and starting the descent to the cabin.

At that moment, Jorge Sanchez and the one called Slim spotted them.

"Sanchez, there's Montoya an' Cannon. Let's move," Slim rasped. Hesitation would cost them the advantage of surprise and all chance to kill men and steal mustangs would vanish. Sanchez, eyes fierce, motioned to the men to mount up.

"Andale, muchachos!"

The lot scurried to the hollow where their horses had been tethered moments before, only to find it abandoned. Sanchez threw his hat to the ground and cursed in displeasure. "Some day, Slim, I will kill those hombres."

"Sure Sanchez, sure." Slim said with a twisted grin, just as disappointed. "Let's get outta here." They'd have to walk back into Tucson to get more horses. Again. Attacking on foot would be a fool's errand, and Cannon and Montoya would be waiting.

* * *

"Sorry 'bout our trip to Tucson, Roy, but we can visit it again when we take the other horses in," Buck said.

"That's okay, Buck, I don't mind."

"Ay yi yi, compadres, I need some sleep. Come let's put away our team, unload our lumber, take the supplies in and then let us head inside."

"I'm with you, Mano, I'm plumb tuckered out," Buck said.

The three vaqueros, richer and happier, but exhausted, entered the cabin for a well-earned rest.


	12. Chapter 12

**Lady Luck Chapter Twelve: A Brother's Surprise**

John Cannon scowled at the ledger on his office desk. Two weeks. Two weeks and not one blame word from his brother or brother-in-law. What was he running, a hotel at the High Chaparral? Work was piling up and Buck, John had to admit, did more than his share around the place. Sam was hard pressed to get the boys to get it all done with Buck gone. You forgot just how much Buck did till he took off on one of his hunting trips or gallivanting around the country. That brother of his had a wild hare in him. John could just hear him. Brother John, I can't take no more. I'm going to Tucson. Or Tombstone. Or Nogales. Or Lord knows where. An' I'm takin' Mano-lito.

Hmmmph. Manolito. Mano didn't do half as much as Buck, but who else was gonna talk to the Apache...fetch wood for Victoria? Give Victoria someone to yell at? Truth was, John knew, Mano had got to where he did a fair day's work. But no, not now. Not here. Not when I need 'em. Some family.

Cannon took a deep breath, exhaled, and slammed shut the leather-bound ledger book. He rose, scraping his chair on the floor as he did so. He stomped into the living room where his wife sat knitting, a look of concentration furrowing her brow. She was counting.

"Victoria?" John called, his voice edged with irritation.

"Yes, John?" she sighed, put down her knitting.

"Do we have any coffee in there?"

"Yes, John." Madre de Dios, she thought. Can this man do nothing for himself? Is he helpless? Men and the children of men who are children.

"Would you like some, John?" she asked in honeyed tones.

"If I didn't want any, would I have asked?" he barked in a voice that would scare Satan himself.

Victoria sighed again, rose and walked to the small stairway where her very brusque husband stood. She touched him on the arm. He looked off to the side and breathed hard.

"My husband, you again commence a day in a most disagreeable fashion."

"Now look here..."

"I only say this because I love you. But you are cross with me, cross with your men, and lately you have been unbearable to live with."

Here it comes, John thought.

"Would you like me to tell you why?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No, you do not, my husband. You are missing Buck and Manolito and you wonder why they have not returned."

"Well, Victoria, I need them here. Things are piling up. Buck has work to do. I need Mano to make a trip to Sonora to see _your_ father pretty soon."

"But you told me they have mustangs to round up and prepare to sell."

"Yes, but how long does that take? They should have rounded up those few paltry head, driven them to Tucson, and been back long before now. They are just lollygagging. At my expense."

"At _your_ expense? But John, it is their own land they are working, is it not? You are always saying you hope they make something of that rancho and now listen to you. I do not often say this, my husband." Yeah, right, thought John. "But you are being unfair to your brother and to mine. Go and see them. Go and see what they are doing. If they are wasting their time acting foolishly, then you have a right to be angry. But what if they are not, John?"

"Victoria, it does not take two weeks to drive a herd of wild mustangs to Tucson."

"Perhaps they are breaking in those horses first."

"Young mustangs? You must be joking."

"I am not joking! How do you know until you see? There is always work to be done at this ranch. The work will be here when you return. Take Sam or Joe or Wind with you. Maybe they are in trouble up there. Comancheros, Apaches, they could have been massacred to death and none of us would know."

"Now, you don't think that."

"No," Victoria smiled. "But I do think you should go. After all, the last time they went off to work that ranch, they ended up in a fight with each other."

"Well, maybe."

"Not maybe, John Cannon. You will go, and you will come back to me less of a bear of a husband. And I will fix a nice steak dinner and we will eat in peace because you will not be worried about your brother! And perhaps you will bring Buck and Manolito back with you."

"Yeah. I guess you're right. I'll get Joe to ride up with me this morning. We'll see what they're up to."

"Good, John, I am glad." And relieved, she thought and smiled, reaching up to give him a light kiss.

"Well, now I wish I'd gone sooner," John managed a slight smile in return, grasping her hand for a second or two longer than necessary.

* * *

John called Joe to bring their horses, drained the last of his coffee, and kissed his wife goodbye. The men talked little on the ride to the C-Bar-M. Joe could tell the boss was in a foul mood or close to one and Joe was a man of few words anyway. He did not talk just to hear himself talk. They rode past regal saguaros and bushy cholla whose needles would stick to their chaps or pierce their skin were they to brush up against it. The boss seemed preoccupied but Joe's eyes constantly scanned the horizon, alert, watching for Apaches, comancheros, or anything else. The sun warmed them as they rode toward the hills where an occasional cool breeze relieved the heat. In two hours' time they neared the rise overlooking Buck and Mano's ranch.

They paused at the top before edging their horses down. Cannon frowned as he surveyed the scene. Joe kept his mouth shut but looked sideways at the boss.

"Hmmmph," John snorted, his mouth set in a straight humorless line.

Horses milled in the main corral and in the next one stood a lone horse. The kid Roy was doing something...walking...they could not tell. John noticed Mano sitting in a chair near the main corral but within eyeshot of Roy. Mano's arms were folded, his chair tipped back and one leg propped on a lower corral rail. Figures, John thought. Hardly working. Lollygagging.

John then spotted his brother, shirtless, closer to the cabin in front of an outside fire over which hung some kind of large kettle. Even from this distance, John could see a red bandana tied around Buck's head. Looked like he was stirring something. What was this?

Cannon turned to Joe. "Let's go."

* * *

The two men kicked their horses to a gentle walk and headed down. Mano turned to see them, jumped out of his chair and strode to meet them, raising his hands in a cautionary manner, then moving a finger to his lips and whispering, "Shhh." He stopped them short of the corral and again whispered. "Hola, Big John. Hola Joe. Good to see you. Please tie your horses here for now," motioning to a hitching post some distance from the corrals.

"Mano," John said in his normal voice which could be most loud.

"Shhh, cállate, amigo," Mano reiterated, hissing. "Do not talk, por favor. Make no noise," he whispered through tight lips, steering horses and men to the back of the cabin where they dismounted.

Cannon breathed deeply, containing his temper with some effort. Mano again cautioned quiet with a shake of the head as he saw John's mouth start to open.

"Uh uh. We will water your horses in a little while," he whispered, gesturing with his head for them to follow him to the cabin porch, which they did. Joe removed his gloves and smiled. Cannon scowled but pulled off his gloves as well and trailed his brother-in-law.

Buck looked up as the men approached the porch. "Howdy, Brother John," he rasped in a low voice.

"Buck, what are you doing?" John whispered, keeping a distance.

"Oh, I be washing our sheets and such. Figgered I'd throw in my shirt, too. But John," Buck spoke in a hoarse whisper. His bandana-wrapped head jerked toward the corrals. "Looka there, Brother John."

"Sí," Mano whispered. "At Roy and the last of our mustangs."

Joe was already staring, motionless. In a minute's time, John, too, was entranced as he watched Roy working the horse.

* * *

Roy walked with smooth, slow steps around the inside edge of the corral. He stared straight ahead, but his eyes shifted to the side to watch the horse without making eye contact with the animal. You been a tough one, boy, right skittish, Roy thought. Fine'ly starting to trust me, ain't ya? The colt began to match Roy, step for step. When Roy stopped and turned his back to the horse, the young colt shuffled a few paces closer. Roy remained motionless and the colt neared him, pace by pace, snuffling a little at each hesitant step. Finally, the colt stood right behind Roy, who could feel his breath tickling the back of his neck.

At this moment, Roy squatted, pretending to look at something on the ground. He reached into his pocket and took out his kerchief with its sugary treasure. As he unwrapped the kerchief, the colt stretched his neck down until his nose was within an inch of the treat. Yeah, boy, this is whut ya want, Roy thought. He let the colt put his lips over the sugar and snuffle some up. He held the kerchief still and stood upright. The colt did not take his nose out of the cloth still resting in Roy's hand.

Roy now turned to face the horse. The colt's eyes flashed, showing the whites, but the horse did not take a step back, a good sign. Spent too many days on this un, Roy thought. If I kin jes get ya to trust me, you'll be a heckuva saddle horse, boy. Roy lifted his free arm and laid his hand on the colt's neck. He pressed his hand into the colt's neck and then moved his hand further up the neck toward the colt's ears. He kept steady pressure all the time, not hard, not soft, just enough for the horse to feel some power. When his hands reached the back of the colt's ears he increased the pressure a fraction and scratched behind them. Then he moved the hand forward and gathered the whole ear into his palm. He pulled the ear and then let go, moving his hand back down the horse's neck. All the while he kept the sugary kerchief in his other hand where the horse could still suck on it.

Roy cupped his hand to let the kerchief cover a bit more of the horse's nose. He let the cloth cover one nostril and then wiped it down to the horse's lips. He did the same for the other nostril. Then he removed both hands and stepped back away from the horse, turning his body so that he was in profile to the horse. He took one step forward and the horse turned his body to match Roy's. He took another step and so did the horse. Roy walked many steps and the horse followed. He moved about the corral executing a figure eight with the horse at his heels like a faithful hunting dog.

Next, Roy retrieved a rope halter hanging by the corral gate. The horse followed. Roy stopped at the gate and fiddled with the halter, keeping his profile to the horse. The young colt was fascinated and pushed his head toward Roy's hands. Roy let him smell the rope and touch it with his lips and teeth. Then Roy turned and reached up with the halter to the horse's neck, where his hands had touched the colt before. He next maneuvered the other side of the halter so that it rested along the colt's nose. In another breath Roy had slipped one end of the halter over that same nose, and was reaching behind the horse's ears to fasten it. The colt did not move. His eyes stayed calm.

When Roy moved away, he held one end of the rope dangling from the bottom of the halter and kept the other hand on the colt's neck. Then Roy moved faster, lengthening his stride so that the colt had to jog to keep up. Roy started to run, encouraging the horse to quicken his pace by jiggling the hanging rope. When the colt increased the trot, Roy clucked, a soft noise. When Roy slowed down, he hummed and let the rope go slack. The colt slowed down. Then Roy stopped dead and so did the horse. Gotcha boy, he thought.

Once Roy had completed this process going both ways around the corral, he made for the gate. The colt followed on the lead rope as if he had been bred to do it. At the gate, Roy turned and faced the horse. The colt had stopped to watch Roy. When Roy reached up to unfasten and remove the halter, the colt stood stock still and as Roy's hands went behind his ears, he dropped his head into Roy's hands. The halter slipped off and Roy stroked the colt's neck and then pushed him a bit, but the horse did not move away or flinch. Good time to quit, thought Roy.

Roy edged his way out of the main corral, slipping through the gate and shutting it behind him.

"Whew," he sighed. This last mustang had challenged him and he was tired and happy. He carried the soggy kerchief in his right hand and paused to wipe his brow with the shirtsleeves of his left arm. He walked a few steps toward the cabin before looking up to see four men, including Mr. Cannon, looking at him. Roy got a little rattled.

"Good job, Roy boy," Buck said loudly, grinning. "Big John, come say hello to our horse whisperer."

Mano laughed.

John, eyes wide and a smile on his face, all signs of anger gone, strode toward the wide-eyed Roy, who remained frozen in place. Cannon extended his hand and Roy, forgetting he held the sodden kerchief in his right, reached up to shake hands with the boss. In the nick of time he remembered to drop the soggy cloth and wipe his hands on his shirt before clasping Cannon's hand. A few streams of slobber remained on Roy's hand as they shook, but John pretended not to notice and wiped his hand on his pants after shaking.

"Well, boy, that was an impressive display," John's voiced boomed as he leaned back a bit to regard his new hand.

"Uh, thank you, Mr. Cannon. I just move quiet around 'em and I can gentle most horses."

"Oh John, he shore can," Buck echoed. "An' he showed me an' Mano how to do it, too."

"Sí," Mano agreed. No one bothered to mention that Buck, although able to follow Roy's methods, made for a rather noisy and rough horse whisperer, and that Mano and Roy had gentled most of the herd.

"Looks like you've got, oh, twenty head or so here," John remarked.

"Sí, but we took a string of ten to Tucson to sell last week," Mano told him.

"Total of thirty?" John raised an eyebrow, impressed.

"Yeah, John. We hadda to go to Tucson fer supplies anyway. An' a course we needed money fer that," Buck added.

"Seguro," Mano nodded. Then, reaching into his jacket pocket, he produced a small paper. "Oh, and by the way, John. From our proceeds we have deposited $200 into your account at the bank towards the repayment of our loan. Here is the receipt." He handed the paper to John, whose eyes widened in surprise.

"Well, I didn't expect," John stopped as Mano continued.

"I believe that with the mavericks you have already taken, we owe you now, oh $400, no?" Mano continued.

John nodded, disbelieving. "Sounds about right."

"We should be able to discharge this debt when we sell the last of the herd," Mano continued.

"Yeah, Brother John. He's right." Buck grinned.

"Er, do you prefer your payment in cash or shall we make another deposit?" Mano asked, enjoying each word.

"Bank'll be fine," John said, deep voiced, business like. "But, ah, I might be interested myself in some of your stock, if the price is right."

"Why do we not all go into the cabin for some coffee and to discuss matters?" Mano smiled as he and Buck glanced at each other.

* * *

They all followed Mano in, but Roy stopped and filled a bucket with fresh water. Making coffee was now his chore. Mano pulled out the chairs and motioned for John and Joe to take a seat before sitting himself. With a wry grin verging upon a frown, John settled his large frame into a chair. He pretty well knew he was being set up for something. Joe sat beside him. Pulling on the shirt of his faded red long johns, Buck ambled to the table and sat next to Mano. Roy filled the coffee pot and set out the cups, sugar, and spoon on the table, before fetching a crate and sitting down beside Buck. It had not been a deliberate maneuver, but Buck, Mano and Roy were ranged across the table from John and Joe, which made John even more uneasy.

Buck broke the silence. "Brother John, what stock you interested in?" His eyebrows rose and he kept the smile off his face with difficulty.

"Well, that bay colt in the end corral looks pretty good to me and those young fillies are not too shabby, either."

"Sí, the three year old fillies are quite nice, John, and would make fine breeding stock for you, no? They are already well handled and in a year or so could be backed for riding, although if I were you I would keep them with your mares and let them mature a little more before breeding them."

"Well, Mano, that's sound advice, but I was thinking of taking them all off your hands."

"No o-ffence, John, but I don't think you'd like our price," Buck said, calm, eyeing his brother.

John's eyebrows rose, but his mouth remained closed. Buck continued, "We expectin' at least $35 a head for the yearlin's."

"Thirty-five dollars!" John roared in disbelief.

By chance, or design, the coffee smelled ready at that point and Roy rose to fetch the pot, filling all the cups. As a distraction, it worked. John's anger subsided a little and hasty words that could not be unsaid later were swallowed with the coffee.

"Juano, the yearlings are truly not going to make great cattle horses or even great breeding stock, trust me." Mano was smooth and convincing. "The three year old mares will be an asset as both working cow horses and broodmares, if given time to mature. The bay colt cannot come into our discussion at all, because it is not ours to sell. This horse belongs to Roy, who had no horse of his own. It is part of our, cómo se dice, our contract with him for his expertise." Roy's eyes widened at this news.

"Contract?!" John's voice was incredulous.

"Sí, hombre, we have a contract with our new partner regarding the work he has done and what we are planning in the future. We honor our contracts, John, as do you, no?"

Surprised, Buck and Roy looked sideways at Mano but stayed quiet. Thus Mano became the sole voice setting the terms of the sale. John might not like the deal, but he would have no choice. Joe kept his eyes on his coffee cup, sipping the hot liquid whenever he felt the urge to snicker. Mano and Buck had the boss over a barrel. Joe was pleased. He respected John Cannon, but he was fond of Roy. If Roy was to be a partner in all this, that was just fine with Joe.

"The mares are for sale, John, if you still wish to buy them, but their price is $50 each," Mano said, smiling with everything but his eyes.

"What? That's $200 for some wild horse flesh!" John exclaimed. But he was fooling no one. Mano knew he would agree to that price and that would leave an amount outstanding on their loan of only $200 that would be settled once the others were sold.

And John agreed, extending his hand to Buck and Mano, and nodding at Roy. A momentary twinkle in his eyes and a brief smile were the only signs that he was actually very pleased. The horses would be worth the price, and seeing his kinfolk doing something with their lives meant a great deal to him. He could not wait to tell Victoria.

"Do you think you'll be coming back to the Chaparral any time soon, gentlemen?" John asked. "Work is stacking up."

"Shore will, Brother John. We just need to get the cabin ready for winter, lock things down, sell our herd in Tucson, and we be back," Buck said.

"When can I expect you?"

"Oh, in a day or so at the most, John," Mano added.

"Good. There's plenty to do at the ranch, but I'm probably gonna need you to go to Sonora for me, Mano, pretty soon to, ah, see your father. If you can spare the time, that is," John said.

"I am sure that can be arranged, John," Mano smiled.

"C'mon, Joe, let's get our horses and get outta here before the price goes up," John smiled as well. So did Joe.

* * *

It was early evening when John and Joe rode out, each leading two horses that were well and truly broken to the halter. They would get back to the Chaparral in time for a late dinner. The horses would not be traveling in the heat of the day and would have the night to get used to their new surroundings.

Buck felt satisfied, but he also knew the three of them needed to sit down and talk about their new arrangement.

"Roy, would you make sure the horses have hay and water before you wash up for dinner? I will fix us something to eat," Mano said as they watched Big John and Joe ride off.

"Shore thing Mano." Roy hurried to the shed to get hay to feed the horses. He eyed the bay colt. It was his. He could not believe it. He had plans for that boy.

"Mano?" Buck asked.

"Sí, amigo, I know. Let us go inside and discuss things."

Mano had already prepared his argument, which he presented with the same smooth calm he had used when selling the horses to John. He knew Buck would appreciate his idea about a horse breeding operation, perhaps one spanning both sides of the border. After all, the Rancho Montoya would belong to him one day. Until then, the wonderful C-Bar-M horses would make a name for all of them.

Roy's skill would be invaluable, and they must discuss his percentage and a real contract. It would not do for such a great name as his, nor that of his partner, Buck Cannon, to be associated with dishonesty. They would offer Roy a proper partnership with themselves, perhaps only 15% to start with, increasing over the years as their success increased. Mano was certain they would be successful and since horses were far more interesting to him than cattle, this would be an ideal venture and one they could all share.

Buck listened to his argument, speechless.

"Well, Mano, that all sound pretty good. But what'll Big John say? That'll be takin' us away from the Chaparral."

"Not at first, amigo. Gradually, yes. But that will take time," Mano reflected.

Buck nodded, smiled, and they shook on it.

Ay yi yi, what responsibility have you now taken on, Manito, what responsibility, Mano thought. His luck seemed to have run out in Stokertown but now it had returned to him, just like a woman. He beckoned, luck and women followed. Luck was indeed a lady, and that was fine with him.

One thing Manolo Montoya knew was how to treat a lady.


End file.
